


The Warrior Soul (Previously Heidelberg Mission)

by 1MissMolly



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Violence, Kidnapping, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mention of Off-Screen rape/sexual abuse, Mention of Off-Screen slavery, Self-Harm, Sherlock Episode TEH, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-03-09 10:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 64,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13479828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1MissMolly/pseuds/1MissMolly
Summary: “That’s what I was. A puppy. A pet. Then Moran took me and made me his husband.”“What was your name when you were with your brothers?” Bond asked. He was wondering if he could get the boy back to his family.“I’m not allowed to say it.”“I won’t tell anyone.” Bond tried to look as unthreatening as he could.“And if you were sent here to trick me, you would say the same thing.” Pup twisted his head to the side as he examined Bond’s face.Bond is sent to track down Moriarty's right hand man, Sebastian Moran. But Bond finds more than just Moran. Sherlock Holmes returns from the dead only to find all of sacrifices for John may not have been enough to save the good doctor from a sniper.





	1. A Mission from Mycroft Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of my convoluted stories. This is set in 2014. Sherlock has been 'dead' for two years and working for Mycroft as a secret agent. John is beginning to rebuild his life, alone. Season four won't even be mentioned. 
> 
> This is a dark story involving a kidnapping and sexual abuse of a teenager by Moriarty. All of that happens off stage and will not be graphically described. It will only be briefly mentioned but it the set up for the story. Bond is sent to stop Moran and Sherlock returns to London and to John.

To anyone other than Gareth Mallory, the man sitting before him seemed calm, reserved, almost fridge in his appearance. But Gareth could see the cracks. The slight twitch in the eye muscles. The imperceptible tip forward to his shoulders. The miniscule hesitation in his voice. Mycroft Holmes was worried. And if Holmes had reason to worry, then England had reason to fear.

“Sebastian Moran is the lynch pin in Moriarty’s web. He needs to be removed if we have any hope of ending this criminal enterprise.” Mycroft Holmes said quietly. His hands resting on the arms of the leather chair.

“I have a man in mind to terminate the mark.” Mallory tried to sound as indifferent as Holmes was feigning.

“It is vitally important that this is done before the debate of the terrorism bill is brought up in Parliament.” Holmes continued.

“I can have Bond on the ground in two days.”

Holmes pulled the corners of the mouth down in a theatrical pout. “If that is the best you can do.” The man rose from his chair and smoothed down the front of the slate grey suit. “Lazarus has found himself in a bit of trouble in Serbia. I will need to deal with it myself.”

 _‘Ah . . . there it is.’_ Mallory thought to himself. The reason why Mycroft Holmes was so distracted during their briefing. The mysterious Lazarus must have been captured.

Holmes had worked closely with this Lazarus for two years now. He would not let the identity of the operative be known but the man had been responsible for dismantling of several different criminal organizations and the capture of at least a dozen foreign agents working against England. Lazarus had been whispered about in the halls of the Secret Service for two years now. People wondered if he was an American because of his reported brashness; others thought it had to be more than one person because of how successful the operative was.

Mycroft Holmes had relied on Lazarus and his missions to further his position within the government. Whereas some were living in fear of being made redundant, Holmes became more affluent. If Lazarus had been captured, then Holmes would do the unthinkable to get him out. He would go himself to rescue Lazarus.

Mallory stood and held his hand out to Holmes. “I will have Bond in Germany by tomorrow night.”

“Thank you.” Holmes’ face returned to an emotionless mask.

He turned and walked out of the room. His attractive, dark haired assistant quickly followed him, never looking up from her Blackberry.

Mallory took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He wondered if he would ever see Mycroft Holmes again. It had been almost ten years since the man did any field work. Holmes always complaining that ‘leg work’ was not his forte. If Lazarus was so important to Holmes to go into the field himself, Mallory wondered who the mysterious agent could actually be. Obviously, someone very dear to Holmes.

Mallory pressed the button for the intercom system and spoke. “Please send Tanner in with Bond.”

“Yes, sir.” Eve Moneypenny’s disembodied voice spoke through the small speaker.

The door opened and the Chief of Staff and agent James Bond entered Mallory’s office. William Tanner was dressed professionally in his navy blue suit and burgundy tie. Bond on the other hand enjoyed the tailors of Savile Road. His pale grey suit had blue pinstripes that matched the royal blue tie he had expertly tied in a Windsor knot around his neck. The color of the suit accentuating Bond’s coloring and bringing attention to his intense blue eyes. A matching silk handkerchief adorned the suit’s front pocket, folded just so, to add to the clean crisp lines of Bond’s body. Drawing attention to the man’s shoulders. The cut of his trousers followed the lines of his body, bring awareness to his other assets. The very masculine Omega Seamaster watch was barely visible below the edge of his jacket’s sleeve. Bond wore Italian leather shoes that were charcoal grey instead of standard black and perfectly matched to his belt. Even for a man firmly set in his heterosexuality, Mallory’s glance at Bond lingered for a moment too long to be nothing more than lust.

Bond knew it too. His smug smile creased his face when he caught his boss watching him.

“Bill, very good. We have a new mission for Bond.” Mallory said quickly clearing his throat before glancing back at this desk.

He picked up the information that Holmes had left with him. The file was thick and weighed heavily in his grasp. Passing it over to Tanner, the other man used two hands to take it away. Holding tight to prevent any pages from slipping away.

“We have been tasked with finding and eliminating a man by the name of Colonel Sebastian Moran.” Mallory said.

Tanner opened the cover of the file and removed a photograph of the soldier. He quickly handed it over to Bond and the blond glanced down at the face.

Moran was in his mid to late forties. He was blond and rugged looking. With a strong jaw and deep set eyes. The photo was black and white and Bond couldn’t be exactly sure of the color but he believed Moran’s eyes were grey.

Tanner handed another page of the report to Bond after he had quickly read it. Bond looked down the list of deployments and commendations that Moran had received while he was in the army. There were numerous citations for bravery and valor.

“Why are we going to be terminating a hero for the Queen and County?” Bond asked coolly.

“He is no longer a hero, 007.” Mallory snapped back. “He was dishonorably discharged after he was found looting Mosques and holy sites in Afghanistan. He murdered a commanding officer during his escape and fled the country with an estimated hundred pounds of heroin.”

“What happened to him?” Bond asked raising an eyebrow. “A soldier doesn’t go from hero to criminal over night?”

“We found out he had been working for a man by the name of Jim Moriarty. Are you familiar with him?”

Bond had a faint recollection of the name. He had something to do with a theft or something.

“Jim Moriarty was the criminal mastermind behind the attempted simultaneously robberies of the crown jewels, the Bank of England and mass escape from Pentonville Prison.” Tanner explained.

“And how long shall he be a guest at Her Majesty’s pleasure.” Bond asked jokingly.

“He isn’t.” Mallory coldly answered.

“He isn’t?” Bond was surprised.

“He was found not guilty. Exonerated. The man who tried to convince everyone that he was guilty ended up committing suicide.”

Mallory paused as he remembered his previous visitor. He wondered if Mycroft Holmes’ visit had anything to do with his dead brother, Sherlock, and Moriarty.

“Holmes wasn’t it? Some odd name . . . Sherlock Holmes?” Bond asked trying to remember the case from two years earlier.

“Yes, Sherlock Holmes and less well known as the brother of Mycroft Holmes.” Mallory said.

Tanner sat up straight in his chair and leaned forward.

“Not the Iceman?”

“The very same.” Mallory answered his second in charge.

Bond was not familiar with either name but given Tanner’s reaction, Mycroft Holmes must have been someone very important to the government.

“So is this a revenge mission?” Bond asked as he tried to slot the information together.

“No, not completely. Moriarty disappeared after Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of St. Bart’s two years ago. Some claim he is dead. Some claim it was Sherlock who murdered him to cover up the fact that Holmes, himself, was the criminal mastermind. But information has been coming out of late that Moriarty was actually responsible for the bombings back in 2009 and has been involved in various terrorist attacks around the world as well as other spectacular illicit plots. His empire stretches across the globe. And Sebastian Moran is reported to be his right hand man. Chief assassin and leading enforcer. If he is removed, then Moriarty would be greatly handicapped. Maybe enough that he would be forced to show himself. He’s been in hiding since Sherlock Holmes walked off that building.”  

Bond wrinkled his brow. He quickly saw the problem with the mission as Mallory had before Mycroft Holmes left his office.

Mallory leaned back in his seat and fiddled with his pen between his fingers. He stared down at his desk without really concentrating on what he was looking at.

“Sir?” Tanner interrupted Mallory’s thoughts. “You are not sending Bond to kill the man are you?”

“No.”

Bond shifted in his chair waiting to hear exactly what his orders would be.

“We know that Moran is operating out of Heidelberg. We are sending Bond there to locate Moran, but do not . . . I repeat, do not engage the man just yet. Follow him and find out who he is in contact with. I want you, Bill, to go through this report thoroughly. I want you to see if Mycroft is trying to hide something from us in the load of minutia. Let’s see if Mycroft is leading us astray. He wants Moran dead ignoring the fact that Moran can lead us to Moriarty.” Mallory explained. “I’m getting the sense that Mycroft Holmes is hiding something from us and I don’t like the idea of being left hanging.”

Tanner nodded his head in agreement. “I can get a quick brief written up for Bond to review before he goes to Germany. The Quartermaster can have him kitted out before tomorrow and we can have him on the ground in thirty-six hours.”

Bond crossed his legs and leaned back into his chair. He took on the air of indifference while he was quickly running through a list of things he needed to do before leaving England again. He needed to quickly pack for his trip and cancel his dinner plans with a young royal who he met at private casino. He appeared to only partially listen to the other two men but he was listening on a subconscious level. Deciding what would be the best avenue into Moran and his organization.

“After we are certain it is not a trap, I want Bond to make contact with Moran and to ‘black bag’ him back to England for interrogation.” Mallory continued.

“Sir, Moran is a war hardened veteran. He won’t be easy to break.” Tanner said.

“We need to know if Moriarty is alive or dead. If he escaped England when Sherlock Holmes died we need to know where he is so we can go after him.”

“I will notify Anderson he will need to prepare for enhanced interrogations.” Tanner said as he started to tap away on his tablet.

Mallory nodded his head. “Very good. Now it is ten-twenty in the morning on Monday. I want Bond on the ground in Germany at twenty-three, thirty, Tuesday. He will need a contact point to start following Moran and he will need an ‘exfil’ plan ready to go when we are positive of Holmes’ information.”

“Yes, sir.” Tanner said rising from his chair.

Bond was slower to stand, taking his time to straighten his cuffs before standing at attention before Mallory.

“And Bond . . . let’s try to follow the plan this time.” The condescending tone of Mallory’s comment wasn’t lost on the other two men.

“Absolutely.” Bond smiled.

No one believed Bond. Especially not himself.


	2. The Blond Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond meets Moran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like the name of this story. I was thinking of something about saving someone's life saves your soul but nothing has come to me. So if you can think of a good title please let me know.

Bond had been given as much information as Tanner could glean from the report in the short period of time the Chief of Staff had. It wasn’t much. Sebastian Moran was a highly decorated colonel in the Royal Army. He’s first deployment had been Operation Banner in Northern Ireland. It was believed that is where he first met Jim Moriarty. He had served with distinction in Iraq and Afghanistan. Although, Moran had a successful and respected career in the military, he had also been working behind the scenes with Moriarty. When priceless artwork disappeared in Iraq, Moriarty and Moran were suspected of being the conduit that remove the artwork from the county. When Moran was caught looting a mosque, he murdered his commanding officer to escape capture. Quickly returning to Moriarty and his crime network. Since Moriarty’s disappearance after Sherlock Holmes’ death, Moran had taken a more aggressive role in the criminal empire. Operating as Moriarty’s right hand man.

Based on information from the file, Tanner chose to send Bond to Cologne instead of Heidelberg. Sebastian Moran had been working out of Cologne recruiting new members for Moriarty’s organization. He was also preying on the refugees who had fled into Germany. Numerous young men and women were disappearing and ending up in the sex trade; never to be heard from again. Bond hated human traffickers. The only thing hated more than human traffickers were those who trafficked in children.

Cologne, Germany was cold and grey when he arrived. There was a gloom that hung over the ancient city as slate grey clouds hung low in the sky. The eclectic architecture of the city made Bond feel disjointed and uneasy. He never could settle on what type of city Cologne was. Medieval or modern. Western or European. The bustling crowds around the cathedral pushed through the construction work that blocked several streets and buildings around the square. The congestions was making everyone angry. Excavations on Roman ruins near the government offices and repairs to other building damaged over sixty years ago just added to the general confusion in the area.

Bond sat in a small coffee shop just off the square from Saint Peter’s. He was watching for Moran. An intercepted correspondence stated there was to be a meeting between Moran and a rival criminal, Franz Schultz. It was late in the afternoon and skies were getting darker. Most of the office workers were already leaving work. The streets were crowded with people trying to push their way home.

Taxis honked their horns and the air brakes on buses whined as the crowds pressed out into the crosswalks and through the busy intersections. Very few people, who owned their own cars, would risk driving at this time of day in the congested streets.

Bond sat at a table near the window of the coffee shop. His wool over coat was unbuttoned and his gloves laid on top of a German newspaper. Subtle, he let his eyes scan the crowd for any familiar face. Any of the half dozen that had been in the file that Holmes had supplied. He didn’t see anyone.

The waitress came over with his coffee and a small tartlet made of puff pastry and fruit. Bond wasn’t hungry but he needed a reason to be sitting in the shop. The plain looking woman smiled at the attractive Englishman and Bond returned a pleasant and non-committed smile. She hesitated for a moment at his table, deciding if she had a chance with the man. He continued to smile, but just as she was about to make an offer of something not on the menu, Bond turned and glanced out the window. Bond noticed Moran walking passed the window. The blond criminal glanced in but kept walking. He wasn’t coming into the shop. Bond frowned as he abruptly stood, and jostled the table. The coffee spilled and splashed across the top of the table.

“Entschuldig ung, bitte.” Bond said as he quickly pushed passed the woman and towards the door. She realized she would be going home alone tonight.

Just as Bond opened the door to leave, Franz Schultz, the man Moran was supposed to meet, entered. Bond step back and held the door for him. The man was older and shorter than Bond. Mid to late fifties. He had dark grey hair and his tan face was carved with deep wrinkles. The man scowled as he looked up into Bond’s healthy younger expression. Bond remained indifferent as the criminal walked passed him.

Bond’s eyes followed him for a moment as the old man walked towards a table in the back of the small shop. Two other men came in with the German. Both were younger men and dressed more casually. They wore blue jeans with turtle-neck jumpers, and leather jackets. Equally, they both wore contemptuous grins on their faces. One of them pushed Bond back, sneering at the posh Englishman. Bond thought about punching the punk, but decided it wouldn’t be wise to bring attention to himself just yet.

Bond glanced out the door and noticed Moran had cross the street and was now standing on the opposite side. He was watching the front of the shop. Bond was trapped. He either had to make it look natural and leave, or turn around and sit down, drawing attention to himself. Deciding on remaining veiled, Bond stepped out of the shop and into the passing crowds. As soon as the light changed, he joined the push of people who started across the street.

He saw the burst of light before he felt the heat or the concussion. His mind quickly registered _‘Explosion’_. Bond was pushed to the ground along with everyone else who had just stepped off the curb with him. He found himself in a tangle of people. Legs and arms flaying in the pile as debris and wreckage of the shop rained down on top of them.

The coffee shop was gone.

Blown up just within seconds of Bond leaving it.

Bond pulled himself from the pile of bodies as people started to scream and run. There were shouts and someone was crying. Bond could hear the sound of distant sirens coming towards the explosion. He helped two people to their feet. A man with a cut across his forehead and woman who seemed to just be shaken. Bond looked back at the damaged building and saw the waitress who had served him. She was dead, sprawled across his table. Her face blackened and burnt. Her eyes fixed and open, yet blind. Bond didn’t need to look for the German criminal. He was positive that man was dead.

Bond rushed across the street to where he had last seen Moran. The blond soldier was gone. He had disappeared into the crowds. Bond glanced around and decided it was probably the best thing he could do too.

~Q~

Moran stood in the cold air waiting for Schultz to arrive. Franz Schultz had been a thorn in Moran’s side for two months now. The older criminal had insisted on fifty percent of the profits from the trafficking of refugees out of Syria and into Germany. Then, when Schultz learned that certain refugees were being waylaid and sent into the sex trade or slave market, he demanded more money. And for what? He brought nothing to the enterprise other than his name and a few corrupt politicians. Moran was tired of working with the man. He and his thugs were a liability and not an asset in Moran’s opinion and until someone told him otherwise, he would go with his own judgement about it.

The explosions was probably over kill but Moriarty liked bombs. He like to blow things up, so if anyone asked Moran could say it was Jim’s idea to kill Franz. Just like Moriarty, Moran wasn’t overly concerned with killing and injuring innocent bystanders. Beside . . . innocence was such a subjective opinion.

He waited until he saw Schultz enter the coffee shop with his two thugs. Moran could never remember the name of the two men. And now, it really didn’t matter any more to learn them. They would die along with their boss. Just before pressing the button on the remote control in his pocket, he noticed the blond man holding the door for Schultz. The man was taller than Schultz, but most men over the age of sixteen were. But there was something about this man that stood out for Moran. Something predatory about him.

Most people would walk passed this stranger and never noticed him, but Moran saw a killer. He couldn’t actually put his finger on it, but he knew this stranger in the dark wool coat and blond hair had killed before and would more than likely kill again. He was of average height and weight. His shoulders appeared broad but that could have been the tailoring of the coat. The stranger wore expensive clothing but Moran could see that he also knew pain and suffering. The stranger could withstand torture if he had too.

One of Schultz’ bodyguards was stupid enough to sneer at the stranger. Moran thought the fool didn’t know how close he was to death at that moment. Moran’s eyes were so fixed on the man that for a brief moment he forgot about Schultz and the Idiot Twins. His attentions flashed back to the café and he could see the large glass window, Schultz sitting down at his normal table in the back.

 _‘What an idiot.’_ Moran hummed to himself. Only a fool would sit in the same place over and over again. It made killing the man that much easier. Moran had placed the bomb under the table himself, earlier that very same day. It was a small device but would do the job.

His hand closed around the small plastic box in his pocket as his thumb felt the button. He pressed it. For the briefest moment, he believed Schultz had looked up and seen him standing on the opposite side of the street.

Then it was done.

The glass windows sprayed out over the pedestrians followed by the blast wave. Anyone inside the shop would more than likely be killed. Those on the street would have been injured but very few would have been killed. Moran quickly turned and started walking away. People were slowly getting up as sound of sirens and crying merged together. He ignored the moans and pleas for help as he quickly walked across the mall in front of the cathedral.

Moran walked into the passageway at the Museum of Roman Antiquities and down a long staircase to a lower street. Within minutes he was away from the blast and advancing police, never looking back. He moved calmly but quickly. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Moran never saw the man in the dark wool overcoat, following him.

~Q~

Bond had seen Moran walking away from the blast. As soon as he was on his feet, Bond was moving. He followed Moran through the museum and waited at the top of the staircase. When he saw Moran walk into another tunnel, Bond rapidly ran down the stairs and head after the other him. He paused for a moment at the entrance of the tunnel, glancing down the dark depths to see if Moran was waiting for him.

Instead of seeing Moran, Bond noticed the three men step out of the shadows and follow Moran out of the tunnel. Bond didn’t think they were with Moran. The three men were dressed more like thugs. Torn jeans and dirty greasy jackets. Their bearded faces were unwashed and their heads were shaved. The term ‘Skinheads’ passed through Bond’s thoughts as he followed the small parade.

Moran was heading towards the river. He turned down a narrow street where cars were not allowed and the three men picked up their pace and followed him. Bond paused at the corner of the alley and glanced in.

The three men had jumped Moran. Presently, two were holding him while another was punching him in the stomach. Bond held back. He watched as Moran set his feet apart and braced off the two men holding him. He kicked up suddenly, kicking the third man in the groin. The skinhead collapsed to the ground grasping at his gentiles as Moran twisted and pulled out of the hold of the one of the men.

“Fuck’n bastard!” Moran growled.

“Tötet ihn!” the man on the ground shouted as he grabbed at his groin.

The man who had lost his grip on Moran pulled out a switchblade. Moran punched the third man in the face, ignorant of the weapon. The man with the knife lunged forward and swiped at Moran’s arm. The knife cut through shoulder of his coat. Moran didn’t seem to notice and kept punching the third man. The man with the knife twisted back and positioned himself to stab Moran in the kidney.

Bond moved quickly. He ‘rabbit punched’ the man with the knife. The thug collapsed to the ground, paralyzed. Bond kicked the knife away. It clattered as it skidded across the paving stones.

Moran turned at the sound and saw Bond. He instantly recognized him as the man from the coffee shop. With his attention now on Bond, the man who Moran had been punching quickly retaliated. He leaned back and brought his knee to his chest. Kicking out, he caught Moran in the solar plexus. Moran flew backwards as the air rushed out of his lungs. He crashed into a wall and slid to the ground.

The thug who had been kicked in the groin picked himself up off the ground and ran at Bond. He tried to tackle him but Bond twisted as he grabbed the man’s shoulders. Letting the momentum throw the man back into a wall. The last thug attacked Bond, believing the new arrival was an easy target. The first skinhead joined him and they attacked simultaneously. Bond punch one man in the jaw and kicked out at the other, hitting the inside of his knee. The man collapsed instantly. Bond kicked with his opposite leg at the man’s skull. The man’s head snapped back as blood sprayed from his mouth.

The last thug rushed at Bond again. Swiftly and skillfully, Bond punched and kicked at the man. It was a short fight lasting less than a minute before the criminal was unconscious on the ground, bleeding. Moran watched from his spot leaning against the dirty wall. He knew SAS tactics and this blond stranger was fighting with them.

Bond glanced around to make sure all three of the skinheads were down and not getting back up before he turned and looked at Moran. The man was still sitting on the ground but the Beretta handgun was out and pointed at Bond. Slowly, Bond raised his hands in surrender.

“Nicht schießen.” Bond said in his perfect Hamburg accent.

“Don’t fuck’n try. I know you’re English.” Moran said coldly. He pulled the hammer back on the gun.

Bond’s eyes flicked between Moran’s and the gun. Slowly he lowered his hands but kept them spread away from his body.

“Look, I was helping you.”

“Who are you?” Moran asked as he carefully stood back up.

Moran was a good three inches taller than Bond and in that alley he looked like a giant with the gun pointed at Bond.

“No body.” Bond said, remaining as unthreatening as he could.

“Who are you? Why did you follow me?”

“I wasn’t following you. I just came up and saw these three beating the shit out of you.”

“I saw you at the café. I know you were there when it blew up. I won’t ask again . . . who the fuck are you?” Moran growled.

“Bond, James Bond. Yes I was there . . . but I didn’t want to be questioned by the police. I would prefer to avoid them if you don’t mind. Can we leave before they arrive here?” Bond said as calmly as he could.

“Why do you want to avoid the police?” Moran pressed.

“In my jacket . . .” Bond started to move his hand to pull the clothing back.

“Careful!” Moran jabbed the gun forward, threatening.

Bond moved slower and pulled his coat and jacket back. The webbing of his shoulder holster could be seen. Moran nodded and Bond slowly removed his gun.

“I didn’t want to be caught with this on me.” Bond said.

“Why?”

“It was used to kill someone today.” Bond spoke as if he was talking about the weather.

Moran nodded his head again and stepped forward. Keeping his own gun away from Bond’s reach, Moran grabbed Bond’s gun.

“Who’d you kill?” Moran asked.

“The person I was paid to kill.”

Moran looked over Bond carefully. “Are you SAS?”

“No,” Bond said.

“You fight like one of them.”

“Former SBS. If you must know. Freelance now.”

One of the men on the ground moaned. Bond and Moran’s attention was pulled away from each other and to the man on the ground. Suddenly, Moran shot the man, but he used Bond’s gun. The sound echoed in the tight little alley.

“There now, its killed two today.” Moran said as he tossed the gun back to Bond.

Bond slipped his gun back into its holster. Moran watched Bond and was pleased to see how calm and indifferent Bond seemed to be about the dead man. Moran was taking a liking to the blond stranger.

“Time to go, sailor boy.” Moran said. “You have two choices. Come with me or leave and promise I’ll never see your bloody face again.”

“Is the pay good?” Bond asked unconcerned.

Moran smiled. “Better than you can believe.”

“Oh, I can believe a lot.” Bond smiled back.

The two men heard the sound of voices coming from the entrance of the alley. Together the two took off running in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t going to plan, but Bond was pleased with the outcome. He was now going to able to keep an eye on Moran up close. Maybe even get to meet the mysterious Jim Moriarty.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Entschuldig ung, bitte Excuse me, please  
> Tötet ihn Kill him  
> Nicht schießen Don't shoot.


	3. The Forests of Serbia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Moran go to Serbia to meet a spy.

Moran kept Bond close. They stayed another two days in Cologne waiting to see if the police were looking for two blond Englishmen. They weren’t. The report released to the press about the explosion blamed a gas leak inside the café. The report from within the Germany Intelligence Agency stated the bombing was a hit on Franz Schultz by an unknown rival criminal possibly Jim Moriarty. Sebastian Moran’s name was never mentioned.

During the two days, Moran subtly questioned Bond about his past. Indirect questions about where Bond had been stationed in the SBS. What missions he had been on. Then others about where Bond had traveled after he left the navy. Bond knew he was being interrogated. He admired the sly experience that Moran was using on him. Direct and forceful questioning would have made anyone defensive and incensed but the indirect method would make the less experienced divulge everything.

In turn, Bond realized Moran was well trained in interrogations. He wouldn’t be able to question Moran without raising the man’s suspicions. Therefore, Bond refused to ask any question of Moran. Instead he kept their conversations as neutral as he could. He let Moran divulge whatever he wanted to.

Bond was beginning to enjoy Moran’s company. They shared the same likes towards alcohol and guns. They played poker together. They had similar backgrounds and experiences. Bond had to keep reminding himself that Moran was the mark and not an asset. More than once, while they shared a glass of McClelland, Bond had to stop himself from revealing too much. His hesitation seemed to make Moran like him more.

Finally, after three days, Moran informed Bond that they were traveling to Belgrade.

“Serbia?” Bond asked as Moran handed him a new forged passport.

Bond glanced down at the passport. It was a better forgery than what Q Branch was putting out. It was appropriately worn and with numerous stamps in it from both Serbia as well as Germany.

“I need to check in with one of my lieutenant there.” Moran smiled and breathed out a small laugh. “And when I say lieutenant I really mean general.”

Bond wrinkled his brow and nodded. The memory of promising Mallory that he would stick to the plan and not go off on his own came back to Bond. He sighed and resigned himself to being lectured to, once the mission was over.

“When do we leave?”

~Q~

They didn’t stay in Belgrade long. As soon as they were on the ground, Moran and Bond were in a Humvee with a map. It started raining as they drove north out of Belgrade. Just outside of Kikinda, along the Romanian border, Moran turned east and deeper into the woods. The sun had set hours before and it was almost one in the morning. The woods were black and dense. The muddy road was rutted and the vehicle bucked as it hit potholes and the occasional rock.

Bond glanced sideways at the man behind the wheel. Moran’s face was unreadable. His eyes fixed on the road and his two meaty fists on the wheel. Bond hadn’t asked where they were going. He needed to build Moran’s trust in him by proving his trust in Moran. He followed the man into the black woods with the hope this wasn’t a one way trip for one of them.

The Humvee lurched again to the side as the tire slipped into a deep rut. Bond reached out and grabbed at the dashboard to steady himself as Moran cursed.

“If he is wrong, I’ll skin him myself.” Moran whispered under his breath.

Bond glanced sideways. “Who?”

“General Petrović.” Moran said without taking his eyes off the road.

Bond knew the name of the rogue general. The Serbian national had served in the Yugoslavian Army for many years before the country broke apart into seven different nations. Petrović then fell in with Milošević and the corruption of his régime. The man was reported to be ruthless and beyond cruel to those who found themselves prisoners of the insane Serb. Presently, there were at least a dozen different organizations around the world looking to arrest General Petrović for war crimes and crimes against humanity. He was a wanted man in his own country and being hunted across Europe.

“Is he someone you should trust to work with?” Bond asked wondering if he should somehow get Petrović location back to Tanner.

“I don’t work with him . . . he works for me.” Moran said as he quickly turned the wheel to avoid a fallen tree limb.

Bond looked back at the road thinking this was a very bad idea. “What do you think he could be wrong about? Has he promised you something important?”

“A man.” Moran said darkly.

“A man?”

“A very special man. Someone who is supposed to be dead. Someone who I have promised myself I would kill myself . . . slowly . . . if I ever found him alive.”

“You make it sound personal . . . like you thought he was dead already.” Bond said bracing himself as car bounced in and out of a pothole.

“He was supposed to be dead. There were witnesses to his death. People I had reason to believe.”

“And General Petrović told you he had this man . . . alive at his compound?”

“Yes . . .”

“Do you trust him?” Bond asked.

Moran finally turned and looked at Bond. “No, that is why you are here.”

Bond held Moran’s gaze. In the back of his mind, he thought that together, the two of them probably could take on an entire garrison of rogue soldiers, but did he really want to? His skin was beginning to tingle. The same sensation he got just before he went into a black ops mission while he worked in the SBS. It made him feel alive. Yes . . . he really wanted to go against a garrison of soldiers with Moran at his side.

He turned back and looked out the passenger window and into the black woods. He couldn’t see anything except the occasional flash of yellow eyes from the animals staring back at the car. Then he noticed the sky to the southeast begin to lighten. Dark grey to yellow then white.

“Look!” Bond said pointing to the flames as they rose about the trees.

“Damn it!” Moran slammed on the brakes and the car lurched forward stopping suddenly. “That has got to be the compound!”

Moran pressed his foot down on the accelerator and the Humvee struggled to move forward. Its tires spinning in the mud before catching and pulling the car forward. The road swung wide to the right and towards the bright light. As they drove closer, flames could be seen more clearly through the dense forest. Buildings came into view with their roofs burning. Men were running around. Some with hoses trying to put the fires out and others with rifles, shooting is different directions.

Moran pulled the car to a halt near a closed gate. He rolled the window down and shouted.

“OPEN THIS FUCKING GATE NOW! I WANT TO SEE PETROVIC!”

The men at the gate hesitated. Moran drew out his handgun and shot the closest man. He pointed the gun at a second man who quickly opened the gate and let Moran drive in.

The compound was in pandemonium. Men were running around shouting. Some were trying to put the fires out. Others were just standing there stunned. Others were rushing about shooting their weapons into the woods. Chasing shadows. General Petrović was pacing back and forth as men were running up to him with information. Petrović was waving his arms in the air as he shouted orders for the fire to be put out and for the men to stop shooting.

“Petrović . . .” Moran said darkly as he approached the general.

Bond saw the man turn and face Moran. He was dressed in military fatigues and wore a sidearm in a holster on his hip. Bond shifted the fully auto AR 15 forward and into his hands. The sling still over his shoulder as he glanced at the men rushing around them.

“Moran?!” Petrović whispered as Bond and Moran stepped closer. “I . . . I . . . he is gone. He did this.” Petrović waved his hand towards the various fires.

“Are you trying to tell me that a man in your custody not only escaped but also successfully burned down your camp?”

“Yes . . . no . . . he had help! He had to have had help!” Petrović shouted.

“So you not only let him escape but you allowed another adversary to infiltrate your compound.” Moran said darkly.

Petrović grabbed for his sidearm. His hand fumbled with the leather catch over the hammer of the gun. Moran was faster. He quickly and smoothly pulled his gun from the holster under his arm and fired once. A tiny round hole appeared in the center of Petrović’s forehead. The Serbian’s eyes rolled up and backwards into his skull as his legs crumbled under him.

Bond swung the AR 15 around and pointed it at the men standing nearby.

“Don’t be a hero.” Bond said as he raised the gun to aim it.

None of the soldiers moved. Petrović might have been their leader but he was not worth avenging for.

“Who is the second in charge here?” Moran shouted.

A skinny man in his late forties stepped forward. He hesitated then stood at attention before Moran and Bond.

“Captain Leonid Jovanović.” The man said; saluting Moran as he did.

“General Jovanović, you are to put out these fires and find Lazarus for me. If you do not, you will be joining your predecessor.” Moran said.

“Sir, yes sir!” Jovanović shouted again. He turned to other soldiers and started barking orders. The men scurried off quickly. Escaping from Moran and Bond.

Moran turned and started to walk back to the Humvee.

“Where are we going now?” Bond asked.

“Home . . . I’ve been away for too long. Then, I will be needing to pay a visit to a doctor I know in England.”

~Q~

Mycroft Holmes prided himself on his ability to remain above the confusion of emotions. He was aloof and pragmatic for the benefit of all, he told himself. Holmes was the Iceman. Cold, determined and ruthless. But as he sat next to the hospital bed, he realized that the image of the Iceman was a lie.

Mycroft had received information that Sherlock had been captured in Serbia by a corrupt Army general and was being held at secret base on the border. As quickly as he could, Mycroft infiltrated the camp and bluffed his way into Sherlock’s interrogation. Mycroft was forced to wait quietly as he watched Sherlock being beaten by a brute of a man. Sweat streaked the man’s bare chest and arms as he punched and hit Sherlock over and over again. Finally when the man fled the cell, chasing after some story Sherlock had told him that his wife was being unfaithful, Mycroft was left alone with Sherlock. He quickly unlocked his brother’s restraints and together the two Holmes brothers ran from the camp.

It wasn’t until they were in the jeep traveling north through the dense forest did Mycroft become aware of how severely injured Sherlock really was. His younger brother started to cough blood and shortly after that, he passed out in the passenger seat. Their flight out had to be delayed while the medics worked to stabilize Sherlock.

A broken rib had punctured a lung and the man was bleeding into his thoracic cavity. Sherlock was dehydrated and his kidneys were beginning to shut down. His white count was elevated and he was running a high fever. The medic told Mycroft, Sherlock might not survive the trip home.

Holmes pushed the men to put Sherlock on the plane. With IV’s attached and a tube draining fluids from his chest, Sherlock was strapped into a seat on the private jet. Mycroft sat across the aisle from him. The older Holmes brother refused to look at Sherlock for fear his emotions would break through and his staff would see him for who he really was.

Now, he sat beside Sherlock’s bedside. The younger Holmes was very still. Mycroft couldn’t even detect his brother breathing. It frightened him. Only the incessant beeping of the various monitors in the room relayed the information that Sherlock was still alive.

Alone, he allowed himself to indulge in regret and guilt. Regardless of how logical it was for Sherlock to go after Moriarty’s network as Lazarus, he regretted placing his last brother in danger. Allowing anything to happen to Sherlock at all after his family had already lost so much. His parents would never forgive him if anything had happened to Sherlock too.

Mycroft was the older brother. He was supposed to take care of his younger siblings. But he had failed them again. Mycroft closed his eyes and forced down the sob that crawled at his throat. How many years had he carried this guilt? How many times had he allowed it to placate Sherlock’s destructive nature? This wasn’t the first time Mycroft had waited beside his incapacitated brother. This wasn’t the first time he wondered if Sherlock would live. How many times had Mycroft sat and thought how he was going to tell his parents that another of their children was dead. At least they would have Sherlock’s body to bury.

He stared at his brother face. The unnatural stillness of Sherlock’s expression. Almost like he was a statue. The arrangements of sharp angles and elongated plains that created someone striking and remarkable in appearance. Growing up, Mycroft had always felt like the outsider in his family. The one who didn’t actually belong there. Maybe it was his age difference, maybe it was the choices he had made, but none of it really mattered. The distance and time didn’t alters Mycroft’s sense of guilt. He still felt responsible for Sherlock being here. Mycroft decided that it was time to give his brother one more gift.

He reached for his mobile and pressed the contact number in his call list. The woman answered on the first ring.

“Yes?”

“Call the good doctor. He will need to be here when Sherlock wakes up.” Mycroft said.

“Yes, sir.”

The call disconnected and Mycroft slipped the phone back into his pocket. He leaned back into his chair and sighed. He would wait to see if Sherlock would actually wake up before he called his parents. No reason to worry them unnecessarily.


	4. John Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson's story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It introduces John to the story.

John Watson had become a ghost. After Sherlock leapt from the four stories to the pavement, John quit living. The brave soldier and caring doctor had vanished and what was left was a shell. A remnant of the man still walking the streets of London. Still breathing but definitely not living.

The first six months were the hardest for John. His vivid nightmares of Afghanistan were replaced with the memory of standing in the carpark of the Pathology building and watching a body fall from the parapet. For months, John woke up with his heart pounding wildly in his chest and his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Afterwards he could never go back to sleep. He sat on the edge of his bed, his service sidearm in his hands as he waited for the sunrise. Sometimes he would leave 221B and walk. Walk the city streets just like he had done with Sherlock. Move throughout the lanes and alleys remembering when he had done it beside the great detective. By the time the sun had risen over the city, his eyes were red and his face flushed.

The second six months he would often sit in the park and just watch the people. He would see if he could deduce the visitors just like Sherlock could. He would try and figure out who was married and who was single. What their jobs were and where they worked. He believed he’d never be able to make the deductions that Sherlock was able to do just by looking. He would never be like Sherlock. And again he would find himself fighting back the tears.

Then one day, fourteen months after Sherlock had died, John was sitting on the bench in the park as he watched a mother play with her toddler. A two year old little girl who had straw blond hair. Her cheeks were baby pudgy and pink. The baby’s eyes were bright blue. The woman was laughing as the baby clapped her hands and chased after a small red ball. Then John realized he was smiling too. He wasn’t crying. He was calm.

The next day he smiled again. Then the following day. The smiles didn’t last long. A few minutes only. But it was a few minutes when he wasn’t completely eaten up with guilt and remorse. Then one morning, he woke up having slept the entire night without a single nightmare. He lay under the covers and looked up at the ceiling wondering whether he should celebrate or grieve that he was finally letting go of Sherlock.

When it had finally occurred to him that Mycroft had been paying the bills to keep him at 221B, John moved out. He never wanted to see or speak to Mycroft Holmes again. He hated the man. Mycroft was to blame for what happened to Sherlock. It was difficult and John fought to get by. He refused to accept anything from Mycroft when the man offered to pay John a stipend. As a result, John could only afford a small bedsit. He hadn’t worked since the ‘Fall’.

After struggling for a month, John went to talk to Dr. Sarah Telford to see if she would allow him to come back to the clinic. Things had ended badly with the female doctor and John was scared that the woman would still hold a grudge against Sherlock. Sarah happily welcomed him back. Kissing his cheek and offering him a shoulder to cry on if he wanted. John smiled sadly and told her he was done crying.

The next day, he returned to the clinic. His first day was miserable. John’s hands sweated with every patient. He knew someone would come in and ask him about Sherlock. He waited for questions and the accusations. The demands for information about Sherlock’s ‘crimes’. The queries at how gullible John had to be, to believe the fraud. But it had been eighteen months, no one remembered Sherlock. No one cared about the disgraced detective. No one but John.

His life was slowly coming back to something that would appear normal to a stranger. He had a job. He had a new flat. He was dating Sarah again. John could smile and laugh. He could go days without breaking down and crying about seeing Sherlock commit suicide. He even went a whole twenty-four hours without thinking about the man. He was coming back up from the dark depths he had been drowning in.

Then the black car appeared.

John saw it following him after he left work. He tried to ignore it, walking down narrow alleys where it couldn’t follow him. As soon as John stepped out of the opposite end of the alley the car was waiting for him. Finally he turned around and flipped the driver off. He stood on the pavement glaring at the car as it parked beside him. A large burly man got out of the passenger side of the car and held the back door open for John.

“No thanks. I’d rather walk.” John practically snarled.

“Sir, he wants to speak to you.” The large man said. His deep voice rolling across the pavement towards John.

“Tell him I said piss off.”

John turned to start walking away when another man stepped up behind him and pressed into his side.

“We were told to collect you, sir. Please, don’t not make this unpleasant.” The second man said to John. His large hand already wrapped tightly around John’s upper arm.

“It’s already unpleasant.”

John allowed himself to be pushed into the backseat of the saloon. John fumed the entire drive, not paying attention to where he was being driven to. He was actually surprised when the car stopped at St. Bart’s Hospital. The two men escorted John into the hospital and to the wing with private rooms.

As John walked down the hall, he noticed the private guards stationed along the way. Two in dark suits and one dressed as a nurse. He glanced at the patient’s name on the door as the man escorting him knocked on it. ‘Reilly’ John thought the name sounded familiar.

There was no acknowledgement from inside the room, but the man opened the door anyway and waved John in. The doctor’s normal professional demeanor forced him to consider the patient first before looking at anyone else in the room.

John stepped closer to the bed quickly scanning the various pieces of medical equipment surrounding the unconscious man. Then he looked at the face. The skin was still smooth and pale. Far paler than he remembered but maybe John remember how Sherlock looked after the exhilaration of a chase. When both men were high on adrenaline and giddy to be alive still.

John looked carefully at the man in the bed, forcing himself to assess the patient and not to return to his memories. Sherlock’s cheeks were hollow and his cheek bones seemed to be even sharper than before. His hair was longer now. It appeared dirty and flat. John knew Sherlock would be angry about that if he was awake. Sherlock could be quite vain about his hair. Insisting on expensive shampoo that smelled of spice.

John stepped closer. His hand jerked as it reached for the man then pulled back quickly. John took a quick deep inhale. Blinking as tears clouded his vision. There was a ringing in his ears and John thought maybe . . . just maybe he had truly and finally lost his mind.

_‘No’_ He whispered to himself. _‘It can’t be.’_

John was shaking. He grabbed the bed rail and tried to stave off the need to collapse to the floor.

“John?”

The blond doctor shook his head once. He didn’t see Sherlock move his lips so it couldn’t have been him who was calling him. He quickly swallowed the bile that was climbing up his throat.

“John, as you can see, Sherlock needs you again.” Mycroft said.

John blinked his eyes pushing the tears back. He turned slowly to the sound of the voice he heard. He saw Mycroft Holmes standing at the foot of the bed. His pale grey suit was immaculate and he seemed to have just stepped out of the tailors and not from John’s nightmares.

“You will need to take over Sherlock’s care. There is a threat and I need Sherlock able to identify and isolate it before . . .”

John’s fist landed squarely on Mycroft’s chin. The British Government fell backwards into the chair. Crashing to the floor in an uncoordinated mess.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING SPEAK TO ME!” John shouted. “NO . . . NO . . . I WON’T!”

John turned on his heels and marched out of the hospital room. The guard who had brought him blocked his exit down the hall.

“You don’t even want to try.” John glared at the younger man. The man could see the barely controlled rage burning brightly in John’s blue eyes.

The guard backed away and let John pass. He turned quickly and went to the hospital room instead of following John. Mycroft Holmes was pulling himself off the floor. His lip was bleeding and he was gingerly rubbing his chin to see if maybe it had be damaged.

“Jawn?” the man on the bed groaned.

Mycroft looked down at his brother. Sherlock shifted in the bed and turned his face towards the open door.

“Jawn?” Sherlock’s voice was weak and barely loud enough for Mycroft to hear. There was no way John would hear it as he marched down the hall and away from the Holmes.

“I’m afraid, Sherlock, that the good doctor will not be assisting you this time.”

Sherlock blinked his eyes and opened them slowly. Mycroft stared down at his brother. The pain was evident in his silvery blue eyes. It upset Mycroft greatly knowing he had failed another brother again.

~Q~

William Tanner had read through the Holmes report three times so far. During the first read through, he had separated out the critical and immediate information from the rest of the documents. Separating out each page of the file into one of three piles, ‘important’, ‘interesting’ and ‘filler’. That is where he had found the note about Moran’s meeting in Cologne instead of Heidelberg. Tanner was still not sure why Holmes had sent over such a ridiculous file.

On the second read, he had found the information connecting Moran to the rogue Serbian general whose compound had just blown up. The man had been connected to illegal weapons being shipped from former Soviet storage facilities and into the hands of terrorists. It was unclear how the camp exploded or why, but the general was killed as well as numerous members of his administrative staff. Tanner thought the timing was interesting.

On the third read through, he found a comment hidden deep on a back page. It mentioned that Sebastian Moran was questioned in regards to the disappearance of young man. A fifteen year old who disappeared from school. No name of the missing boy was given, nor was the name of the school listed. It had happened fifteen years ago. Tanner wondered why Holmes would be interested in an obvious runaway from fifteen years ago.

He placed the sheet of paper in the filler pile, then frowned. Tanner picked it up and looked at the report again. Moran was in Ireland with Operation Banner at the time the boy went missing. Tanner wondered if Moran knew Moriarty at that time. Jim Moriarty would have been in his early twenties. Was their connection that old? Had they known each other that long? Tanner wondered who the boy was. He wondered if the boy had some connection to Moriarty.

Bill Tanner decided he need to do further research on Moriarty.

~Q~

It had been two weeks since John had learned that Sherlock was not dead. Two weeks of anger and tears and sheer resentment towards the Holmes brothers. John tried to not think of the two men but it needled at him. How they thought he was their personal emotional punching bag.

He found a small flat in Denmark Hill. For some reason he felt that living south of the river gave them more protection from Sherlock and Mycroft. It was only a few blocks from King’s College Hospital where John took a job as an attending and lecturer. His flat, on the first floor of a brown stone, was furnished with odds and ends John had been given by old Army buddies.

John stood at the window of his flat and stared out at the street below. He watched as the crowds walk swiftly to and from the local tube station. The morning rush of pedestrians on their way to work. John’s RAMC mug was in his hand as he glanced up and down the street. His eyes swept over the people then up to the buildings. He didn’t see anything different from any other day, but there was something bothering him. An itch that he could feel just under his skin. Just like he felt in Afghanistan. A sixth sense. He was being watched.

John thought he had made himself clear to the Holmes that they were not to contact him again. In fact when the ubiquitous black saloon appeared again the day after he had punched Mycroft, John had ignored it and kept walking. When the man in the black suit got out of the car, John hailed a cab and left Mycroft’s man standing on the street.

John had refused any contact with the brothers. Even telling Greg Lestrade to ‘fuck off’ when he appeared at John’s door. Then silence. John wanted to believe they had finally gotten the word, but then he shook his head. They would never be considerate enough to leave him alone.

John glanced down at his watch. It was late and he would have to hurry to work. It would be bad form for the attending to be late for his rounds. Quickly setting his mug down in the sink, John grabbed his backpack and headed out the door. Within seconds he was on the pavement in front of his flat, moving along with the crush of people heading off to work too.

John walked the few short blocks to work, walking south along Denmark Hill Road. The smells of coffee and baking breads from the shops along the way washed over John. Usually, the smells were comforting to him, but not today. Again that sense that he was being watched came to him. He stopped and glanced in the window of the men’s clothing store, appearing to be looking at the shirts and jumpers on display. John was actually looking at the reflections of people walking by. Seeing if he recognized anyone. If there was a face he had seen before. No one, but the anxiety persisted.

He turned and kept walking. His fists opening and closing, as he tried to steady himself. A flash of Sherlock laying the hospital bed came back to him. John remembered the various pieces of equipment and monitors Sherlock was hooked up to. There appeared to be a chest tube in his side. He was too sick to be out of bed yet, John thought. Then he remembered he was talking about Sherlock ‘Bloody’ Holmes. The man could come back from death itself whenever he wanted to.

_‘He was probably faking his illness just to get me to help him’_ John thought to himself.

The building of King’s College Hospital came into view. The doors of the Casualty Department were less than a block away from John. The young doctor stopped at the corner with the crowd of people at the pedestrian crossing waiting for the light to allow them to cross. The light changed the people started to move forward. A young man in his early twenties pushed his way through the crowd in his hurry to cross. John registered the fact he knew the man as one of his students, probably late for rounds.

There was a crack, like two wooden boards slapping together. Most of the people ignored it. John didn’t. He knew instantaneously it was a gun shot. The boy, who had pushed John aside, flung his arms out. His back arched as he fell forward. The blood stain growing across his back.

“Snipper!” John shouted.

He rushed forward and grabbed the boy. Pulling him back to the pavement. People around him began to understand what had happened and began running and screaming. John’s heart was pounding in his chest. Adrenaline surged through him and he wanted to flee but he was trained to handle this and he would.

The young man was limp in his arms. His body completely still. Once John got him to the protection of the building behind them, he rolled the young man over and started first aid. The man had been shot in the back and the bullet exited the front of his chest. The hole in the boy’s back was minimal but the exit would was large. The size of John’s fist. The bullet had fragmented and torn through the fragile body. The boy was dead.

John looked up. There were other people injured. More than likely from the panic that arose from the people fleeing. People were crying and shouting. Staff from the hospital were running out of the Casualty department to help the wounded. Memories of the desert came back quickly to John.

Memories of Afghanistan and memories of Sherlock.

 


	5. The Empress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond meets Moran's husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be occasional mentions of what happened to Pup Moran over the next few chapters. Nothing will be explicit but it will still be repugnant. Please read cautiously. 
> 
> On a happier note, thank you for the lovely comments and the kudos. I'm glad you are enjoying the story.

Bond and Moran spent the next day arranging for the new commander, Jovanović, to take over for the dead Petrović **.** Moran let Bond arrange the security on the base. Letting the secret agent set up roving patrols and new checkpoints on the way into the camp. Moran trusted Bond to do a better job than the Serbian. Bond was enjoying himself. Being given the power and respect from Moran and the other soldiers. When they were done, Bond and Moran left Serbia, and traveled west by car. Back across Europe, towards Basel, Switzerland.

“Where are we going?” Bond asked as they crossed over the border.

“To the one place I feel safest in the world.” Moran said. Bond wondered where that could be.

“Will I meet Moriarty there?” Bond asked.

“Maybe.” Moran smiled.

When they reached the Swiss town, Moran took them down to the docks where a large yacht was moored on the Rhine. The large flat river boat was more than hundred feet long with four decks. The broad beam and low upper decks made the craft appear squat in the water; but Bond could see stylish decor through the large windows of the front salon. The upper most deck, the sun deck, had a royal blue awning over teak deck chairs and a circular hot tub.

“A boat?” Bond tried to not mock.

“Have you ever heard the phase, ‘never sleep in the same bed twice’?”

“Common phase for despots.”

“Yes, and criminals. Well, I like my comfortable bed, so I make sure the bed in not in the same place twice. The Empress can travel up and down most of the rivers in Europe and across the small seas. We don’t need to file a flight plan like a plane does, and only need to give short notice when we need to dock. I’m one short car ride from any meeting I need to make. We can go for two weeks without docking if we choose. Longer if we don’t mind eating more can goods than fresh food. I have hand-picked everyone on board and they are devoted to me. It has the very best attributes of a hotel without the crowds. And the scenery in always changing. Best of all . . . my husband is on board.”

Bond inspected over the boat with an envious eye. He thought for moment how much he would like to own a boat like the Empress that would travel constantly and keep him from being cornered by bureaucrats and politicians. He wondered if his life would be very much different if he was someone like Moran. He would still travel and kill people. Operate outside the laws of every country he was in. And so far, Moran and he had only killed bad people. There had been no innocent civilians caught up in Moran’s business. No guiltless people. Maybe it was time for Bond to reconsider his life choices. Living the life of Sebastian Moran had major benefits and didn’t seem to be much of an ethical dilemma for the British agent.

He followed Moran onto the boat. There were several crew members fore and aft, preparing the boat to be cast off. The captain, wearing a dark blue uniform with gold buttons, was waiting by the gangway and saluted Moran as he stepped aboard. Bond noticed the sailor standing next to the captain. The man had a machine gun carefully hidden under a lifejacket. His dark eyes fixed on Bond as the blond stepped on the boat behind Moran.

“Colonel, we are ready to leave when you say so.”

Moran nodded his head. “Get moving. Where is he?”

“In the salon, waiting for you, sir.”

“Follow me, Bond.” Moran didn’t wait to see if Bond would follow him.

He stepped off the deck and into the ship. Bond was surprised by the luxury of the river boat. The floors were cream colored marble with dark veins of reds and browns running through them. The curtains were heavy gold velvet. Dark mahogany wood accented the cream tinted walls. There was a large curved staircase that led up and down from the level they had entered on.

Before Bond and Moran could move further into the boat, a dark haired man with a narrow face stepped up to Moran.

“Sir, we need to talk.” The man addressed Moran.

Moran turned and sighed. “Bond, this is Sutcliff. Archie, this is James Bond. Picked him up in Cologne. He’s good with a gun.”

Archie Sutcliff eyed Bond up and down and sneered. Bond took an instant dislike of the man. Sutcliff was as tall as Bond but thin with the muscular frame of a runner. His hair was dark, almost black and combed back slick over his very round head. His eyes were dark brown under thick bushy eyebrows. His nose and chin were the thin and pointed. He wore a black turtleneck jumper and dark trousers.

Bond held out his hand but Sutcliff ignored it and turned back to Moran. “Moriston contacted us. Her team missed all three targets. The targets have gone to ground.”

“Bitch . . .” Moran hissed. “How did she miss all three?”

“Well, AJ missed the doctor and before the other two could be taken out, someone intervened and removed them from play. She believes the Iceman is hiding them.”

Moran growled. Bond wondered if he was going to punch the poncy Sutcliff.

“We need to proceed with ‘Fawkes’ regardless. Maybe this is a good thing. The Iceman will be so focused on his baby brother lover, he won’t noticed anything else. Tell Adair it’s a go.”

“Yes, sir.” Moran turned to leave but Sutcliff spoke again. “There is one more thing . . . I haven’t found a replacement for Albert.”

Moran stopped and glanced at Sutcliff. “Has something happened? Do we need a replacement?”

“I . . . no sir. Unless you are worried just for his . . . safety.”

Moran stared at the dark haired man for a moment. Then he glanced at Bond.

“Come with me, Bond. There is someone I want you to meet.”

Moran cross the reception area on the boat and through a set of double doors into the forward salon. The salon was carpeted with a gold and burgundy, thick pile rug. Various individual seating areas were set around the room with their own oriental rugs and matching the velvet couches and chairs. The walls were paneled in dark mahogany. Several ‘Post Modern’ oil paintings hung on the walls. Off to one side was grand piano and sitting at it was a young man.

Probably the most attractive young man Bond had ever seen. He was terribly thin with wavy dark hair. His skin was ivory white and smooth. Only the ghost of a beard shadowed his sharp jaw line. His cheekbones were pronounced over hollow cheeks and his lips were both dark and full.

The young man hadn’t noticed the men enter into the salon as he played. His head was down and his attention was on the movement of his hands on the keys. He swayed slightly as he played. Bond thought it was something by Liszt but couldn’t be sure. Just as he began to recognize the melody, the young man would change it slightly and turn it into something different but still beautiful.

“Pup.” Moran said darkly.

The young man glanced up and for a brief moment, Bond saw absolute fear in the young man’s face. His fingers pulling back from the keys as if he was burned. Then he blinked behind his black framed glasses and the young man smiled. He rose from his seat with catlike grace and slowly approached the blond soldier.

Moran held his arms open and the young man slipped into them. Tipping his head to the side as Moran assaulted the young man’s mouth with his. Moran’s hand slipped up and into the boy’s hair. Closing into a tight fist. Pulling the young man’s head to the side so he could bite into the man’s neck.

Bond watched the pair. The young man closed his eyes and winced in pain. He moaned and wrapped his arms around Moran’s shoulders.

“I missed you.” The young man said.

“Not as much as I’ve missed you.” Moran said as he pulled back and held the boy’s face between his two scarred hands. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

Moran wrapped his right arm around the younger man’s shoulders and turned them towards Bond. His attention still fixed on the younger man.

“This is James Bond. He will be working for me now.” Moran introduced the two. “Bond, this is my husband. Pup Moran.”

Bond held his hand out to the young man. At this distance Bond could see that the man was older than he had first thought. Maybe late twenties or early thirties but not yet thirty-five. There was a scar encircling the boy’s neck. It was faint but still visible. Bond also noticed the young man didn’t reach out to take his hand. Instead he tensed as his hazel eyes grew wider. He pulled his hands back and behind himself. But Bond saw the young man’s wrists before he hid them. There was a scar around the wrist too. Older and angrier. The man had fought while restrained.

Moran noticed the young man tense. He glanced up and saw Bond’s outstretched hand.

“Don’t touch him.” Moran growled. “Don’t ever touch my Pup.”

Bond watched the two other men. One very protective and the other obviously terrified. Bond remained unemotional as he nodded and pulled his hand back.

“Of course.”

Revulsion poured into Bond’s body. Over the past few days, Bond had forgotten that Moran was involved in human trafficking. He had been so comfortable around the soldier he had disregarded the fact that there were innocent people being exploited by this brute. Something in Bond triggered, wondering if the young man had been one of the refugees that Moran had kidnapped for the sex trade.

Moran smiled darkly. He twisted his head and kissed along Pup’s long thin neck. Bond wondered if Moran had caused the scars on his husband’s ivory skin or had there been others who had been possessive of the boy. Someone had abused the young man. He didn’t think anyone who was as demonstrative towards his spouse as Moran appeared to be, would be that cruel. But Bond had seen worse in his career.

The boat began to rumble as the engines started to pull the craft away from the dock. The bow of the river boat swung out into the currant and began a slow arc, turning downriver. Bond glanced out the large windows of the salon. The late afternoon sunlight reflected off the gentle waves of the Rhine as kayakers quickly paddled by.

“Where are we heading?” Bond asked.

“Down river. We’ll stop when we need to.” Moran said. “Bond, make yourself at home. The steward will set you up with a cabin.” He pulled the young man close again and started to kiss along his thin neck. “Pup and I need to become . . . reacquainted. Don’t wait up.”

Moran wrapped his hand around the back of the young man’s neck. He pulled the man along with him as he started to march out of the salon. Bond watched as the young man glanced back at him over his shoulder. There was a sadness in Pup’s eyes. Sadness and fear.

~Q~

Bond’s cabin was on the middle deck of the riverboat. As soon as he entered the cabin, he knew his belongings had been searched, simply because they had been unpacked and put away. His clothes were hanging in the cupboard and his toiletries were in the small bathroom. He glanced around the well-appointed cabin. There was a nice double bed with a dark blue duvet and multiple pillows. A comfortable looking chair was beside a full length window that was only a few feet above the water. A reading lamp was positioned next to the chair. There was a small desk under a large mirror built into the wall. The desk had numerous receptacles for electronics to be plugged in or charged but Bond’s laptop was not on the desk. And it wasn’t in its carrying case either. Moran had already taken Bond’s phone away from him. He winced at the thought of Major Boothroyd’s lecture when he returned to London.

When the ship noise lessened to only the low hum of the engines, Bond unlocked his cabin and went looking. There three other staterooms on this deck. He listened carefully at each door, but heard nothing from within them.

Bond wandered around learning everything he could about the ship. The three decks of the four decks were completely above water while the lowest deck was only a few feet into the water. The lowest deck was where the engine room, electronics room and most of the crew slept. The middle deck had the salon, a galley and dining room and four different guest cabins. Bond and Sutcliff had cabins there. The upper decks had the bridge and the private rooms for Moran and his husband. There were two outside staircases that led to the top deck of the boat. The large flat area above the third floor was the sun deck. Deck chairs and lounges were spaced around up there for anyone who wanted to take in the view as the boat sailed. There was also a hot tub up there nestled behind the elevated bridge. Bond smiled when he saw the tub. Wondering how often someone like Moran would lounge in a hot tub drinking cocktails with umbrellas.

Then the image of Moran’s husband came to Bond. The thin young man with the wild nest of dark hair. Bond though how attractive that man would look in a swimsuit in the hot water. His arms spread out across the decking in a welcoming pose. Bond thought about the young man’s pale skin and realized the man probably didn’t spend much time sunbathing.

The riverboat didn’t move fast as it sailed down the Rhine. Just slightly faster than the current. It was after four in the morning when the ship made it into the first locks along the river. Bond went to the salon to watch as the boat sailed into the old stone lock. Just as he reached the door of the salon, he heard the music. Someone was at the piano again.

Carefully, Bond peaked around the corner and into the room. Pup Moran was sitting at the piano, his long thin fingers gliding gracefully over the ivory keys. Quietly, Bond moved into the room, staying where the younger man wouldn’t notice him. The music was soft and melancholy. The young man occasionally looked up from his hands and out the large dark windows at the front of the room.

The young man was dressed in loose fitting t-shirt. The collar was stretched and Pup’s neck and shoulder were exposed. Bond could see the bruises across the pale skin. Love bites marred the ivory skin. The young man’s hair was even wilder than Bond remembered it. Apparently, Moran enjoyed dragging his fingers through it. Bond couldn’t blame him; his hand twitched wanting to touch the silky hair.

There were bruises running down Pup’s forearms too. They looked more like marks left by hands holding him too tight, instead of rough kisses. The young man sat very still, instead of swaying like he had earlier. Bond could easily imagine the reason why Pup didn’t want to shift too much while sitting. The realization of what had happened coalesced into two different reactions for Bond. Protectiveness and lust.

He moved slowly and silently closer to the piano, watching as the young man continued to play. When Bond was only a few feet away from the young man, Pup stopped and pulled his hands back from the keyboard.

“Sebastian won’t like you being alone with me.” Pup said without looking at Bond.

Bond froze in mid step. “You play beautifully. I was captivated just listening to you.” He said trying to hide the surprised that he had been seen. “Have you played for long?”

Bond knew the young man must have to be as good as he was. He was just trying to cover his mistake. It took Bond several seconds to realize the young man had noticed him in the reflection of the windows.

“My first lesson was when I was three. My mother insisted. My brothers and I would give small recitals for our parents. One brother played the cello and the other played the violin.”

“Do you still get the opportunity to play with your brothers?” Bond asked as he stepped around so he was easily in Pup’s view.

“No, they are dead.” He said calmly.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Bond said.

His eyes moved quickly over the young man’s face and body. The bruises on the boy’s neck looked painful. Bond could also see a red mark on the side of Pup’s face. A hand slap.

“What were your brothers’ names?”

Pup’s eyes grew big and frightened, then he looked away from Bond. “I’m not allowed to say them. I’m not allowed to talk about . . . about . . . before.”

“Before what?” Bond asked, but the young man wouldn’t look up. Bond waited and when he knew Pup wouldn’t answer him, he tried at different approach. “Pup can’t be your real name. What is it short for?”

He could see the young man shiver. “Puppy . . . that’s what I was called until Sebastian married me.”

Something twisted in Bond’s gut. He was certain of the answer but he needed to ask the question. “That wasn’t a pet name was it?”

The young man looked up at Bond and the blond could see the redness in the boy’s eyes. He was fighting back tears.

“That’s what I was. A puppy. A pet. Then Sebastian took me and made me his husband.”

“What was your name when you were with your brothers?” Bond asked. He was wondering if he could get the boy back to his family.

“I’m not allowed to say it.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Bond leaned forward and rested his elbows on the piano. He tried to look as unthreatening as he could.

“And if you were sent here to trick me, you would say the same thing.” Pup twisted his head to the side as he examined Bond’s face.

Bond waited a moment. He knew it was useless to deny anything to the young man. He apparently had spent years being abused. The young man wouldn’t easily trust anyone, if ever.

“You hate the name, Pup, don’t you?” Bond said softly. The young man didn’t move. His large hazel eyes glared at Bond as if daring him to attack. “I won’t call you by something you hate.”

Finally, Pup reacted. He blinked.

“I will call you something else. Something just between you and me.” Bond raised an eyebrow. “Hello, my name is James and you are . . . Q.”

Bond held his hand out to the young man. Pup stared at it like it was a snake. Bond remembered he was not supposed to touch the young man and slowly pulled his hand back. Then surprising fast, Pup grabbed it and shook it once, then just as quickly let go. As he pulled his hands behind his back, he glanced around to see if he was being watched.

“Thank you, Q.” Bond said softly. There was forgiving smile on his lips.

Q glanced up and mimicked the smile back to Bond. Bond could see a light start to shine in the younger man’s jade green eyes.

Q slowly rose from his seat and step out from behind the piano. The boat lurched to the side as it bounced against the wall in the lock. Q stumbled and Bond reached out to catch Q from falling. Bond’s arms easily caught the younger man and pulled him closer to steady him. Q was so light and fragile feeling in Bond’s strong grasp. Q gasped as his muscles tensed. He stared up into Bond’s crystal blue eyes expecting . . . Bond wasn’t sure what the young man was expecting but he quickly let go and Q stepped back.

Q took a hesitant step away and started to limp out of the salon. Bond’s protective nature took a stronger hold of him. Apparently, Moran had been none too gentle with his husband. Between the bruises and the slap and now seeing how much pain Q was in as he tried to walk away, Bond’s regard for Moran disappeared. Now Bond wanted to close his hands around the brute’s neck.

“Q?” Bond called out.

The young man stopped and looked over his shoulder at the blond.

“If you need anything . . . if there is anything I can do to help you, let me know.” Bond said. He forced himself to remain still as his instincts told him to hide and protect the heartbreakingly fragile creature.

Q nodded his head. “Thank you, James . . . and I won’t tell anyone you touched me.” Q whispered. He hesitated for a moment as if he was considering something. Then he frowned. “The last person to touch me other than my husband was my bodyguard, Albert. Sebastian made me watch as he had acid poured down Albert’s throat.”

Q waited to see if the news would dampen James’ interest.

“Thank you, Q. But don’t worry. I’ll be here when you need me.”

Q blinked again, and Bond decide that was Q’s ‘tell’. The way Bond would know that Q was learning to trust him.


	6. Who is Sidney Reilly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mallory learns Mycroft has a secret. And John helps Sherlock once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rathokhan was kind enough to come up with a better title for this story. A Warrior Soul is one of the seven soul types or roles in essences. A Warrior's Soul tends to see in terms of confrontation and rising to the challenge. There are causes to serve, struggles to be overcome, battles to be won. I'll let you decide who is the Warrior Soul in this story. Thank you Rathokhan.

“Where is your man, Mallory? I made a simple request. Remove Moran before the Terrorism Bill vote came up. And here we are, the day before the debate, and there has been no confirmation that Moran is dead.” The controlled anger was evident in Mycroft’s voice.

Mycroft Holmes was furious. He had been waiting for confirmation that Sebastian Moran was dead but he had heard nothing from MI6 for two weeks.

Mallory wanted to know where Bond was too, but he didn’t want to give Holmes any extra ammunition to use against him or MI6. He needed to keep Holmes at bay.

“Bond is following my specific orders.” Mallory skillfully lied.

“He should be following my orders. There is no reason Moran should still be alive except that your man is either incompetent or has gone over to the other side. Either way, I want him eliminated.”

“Are you planning on sending someone after Bond?” Mallory gritted his teeth.

“No, you are. I think one of your precious double ‘O’s should be able to handle the job.” Mycroft set the receiver down in its cradle. He did not have the patience to listen to Mallory’s explanation why 007 shouldn’t be terminated.

Mallory sighed and hung up his phone. He looked up at his Chief of Staff and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Any idea where he is now?” Mallory asked Bill Tanner.

“The last contact was from Basel, Switzerland. Are you going to do as ordered? 006 is available for a mission but his association with Bond might make him less than ideal.”

“Mycroft Holmes is over stepping his bounds. I won’t be told to eliminate any of my operatives on his whim.” Mallory snapped. Tanner didn’t take it personally.

“Bond left a message at a drop. Moran had been in Serbia and killed General Petrović.” Tanner continued.

“Well, I doubt anyone will miss that bastard. Moran might even get a medal for it.”

“Bond mentioned that Petrović allowed someone to escape so Moran shot him. Do you think it could have been Lazarus?” Tanner asked.

Mallory laughed. “Imagine Mycroft Holmes’ face when he learns he needs to thank Colonel Sebastian Moran for killing the man who was holding Lazarus.”

Tanner smiled in agreement. “We still don’t know where Bond and Moran are and we don’t know if Moran is working with Moriarty. We have reports of Moriarty planning a major terrorist attack here in London but nothing is specific.”

“Has there been any chatter from the unusual sources?” Mallory asked as he leaned forward in his chair.

“Just whispers of Moriarty’s name. He hasn’t been seen in months. The last report came from Austria from Lazarus. That Moriarty was no longer working in Western Europe and that the agent was heading east looking for him.”

“Lazarus again. Interesting how Mycroft’s man gets around.” Mallory smirked. He was beginning to believe that Lazarus was a figment of Holmes’ manufacturing. No single agent could be that successful.

“And sir, there was something else I found strange in that report Holmes sent over on Moran.”

Mallory waited patiently for Tanner to relay the information.

“There was a police interview of Moran regarding the disappearance of a fifteen year old boy.”

“How long ago?”

“Fifteen years ago. Before Moran had been discharged from the military.”

“Any indication of a connection between this boy and Moriarty?” Mallory asked.

“None.” Tanner said.

“Was the boy ever found?”

“No. The investigating officer’s conclusions were that the boy ran away from home. Apparently, he was the youngest of an eccentric family.”

“Interesting, but why are you bringing this up now?” Mallory asked. He knew that Tanner wouldn’t have mentioned the incident unless there was something important.

“Sir, there was no mention of the boy’s name in the police report in the file, but it seemed odd to me. I pulled the original reports and investigation file. The boy was Algenon Sherriford Benjamin Holmes. Mycroft Holmes’ youngest brother.” Tanner dropped his voice conspiratorially.

Mallory raised both eyebrows at the information.

“There was a third brother?” Mallory asked.

“Yes and he’s been missing for fifteen years. Presumed a run away. Possibly murdered. And Sebastian Moran was questioned in his disappearance.”

“What, if anything, has Mycroft Holmes said about his youngest brother?” Mallory wondered if Holmes had used MI6 for revenge on the man who may have murdered the boy fifteen years before.

“Nothing. He has never publicly acknowledged any other brother other than Sherlock Holmes.” Tanner said.

“And Sherlock Holmes committed suicide two years ago.” Mallory leaned back in his chair. He suddenly feeling guilty about questioning Holmes’ motives. The idea of losing both of one’s brothers tragically would drive anyone insane with rage.

“That may not be true.” Tanner said. “A report came across my desk from Internal Security that a man matching Sherlock Holmes’ description was treated at St. Bartholomew for a pneumothorax. He was brought in under the heavy guards from a military airbase near the coast. Mycroft Holmes accompanied the man who is listed as Sidney Reilly.”

“Sidney Reilly? The Ace of Spies? Really? How very typical for Mycroft Holmes.”

Mallory stared down at his desk and hummed softly. “Try and make contact with Bond. Find out where he is and if Moran is still with him. Identify this . . . Sidney Reilly and verify it is Sherlock Holmes. If it is, where has he been for last two years? And finally try to find any other information out about the third Holmes boy.”

“Yes, sir.” Tanner said as he rose from his seat. He didn’t feel the need to inform Mallory he had already started checking up on Sherlock and Sherriford Holmes.

Neither man were aware that the major news services in Great Britain had just announced that Sherlock Holmes had faked his death and was alive and well.

~Q~

John Watson was confused. He had answered every question the police had asked him about the shooting. He had provided them with a detailed description of everything he heard and saw. At first, they refused to believe it was a sniper as John had insisted it was. They didn’t believe him when he said he was familiar with the sound of sniper round even after he explained he was an army surgeon. Then all at once he was being whisked away from the scene of the shooting and taken to a secure location south of Westminster.

The car he was riding in drove into the underground carpark of a large steel and glass building. But instead of parking, the car pulled into a car lift. The lift descended down for another five minutes before stopping. The narrow tunnels John was being driven through were damp and dark. The walls were made of red brick and gave John the impression they were Victorian.

“Where are we going?” John asked as the car traveled deeper into the gloom.

“A secure location, sir.” A man in the front passenger seat said.

John looked carefully at the man. He didn’t think it was one of Mycroft’s men. The man was wearing the black uniform of the Armed Response team. An automatic rifle rested between the man’s legs with the barrel pointed down at the floor boards. The car drove for several more minutes, slowing as it turned into narrower and narrower tunnels.

Suddenly, a large metal wall appeared in front of the car, stopping the car from proceeding any further.

“This is where we get out.” The man with the rifle said.

John could feel the panic begin to rise rapidly through his body. For a brief moment, he gripped hold of the door handle wanting to prevent the man from opening the door. The officer pulled the door open and waved for John to get out. John could feel the dampness in the air and smelled mildew. The car lights shone on the metal blockade. Everything else in the tunnel was washed away in blackness.

An opening suddenly appeared in the metal wall and light shined through into the tunnel and onto John and the officer. John raised his hand to shield his eyes from the bright white light. A shadow stepped into the light and waited.

“Dr. Watson, we are waiting for you.” A woman’s voice called out.

John thought he knew it. It sounded familiar. He stepped closer and the shadow shifted and became recognizable.

“Anthea?” John asked looking at Mycroft’s PA.

The woman looked confused for a moment, then smiled. “If you like. Please follow me.”

She turned and walked down a well-lit tunnel that looked as old as the ones John had been driven through. Except these tunnels had better lighting. After a hundred feet, another metal wall appeared. Guards with automatic weapons stood on either side of a substantial metal door. Anthea opened the door and continued into the large room beyond. There were numerous desks and computers. Dozens of people were working in this area. Some typing, other reviewing maps or video footage.

Towards the back of the room was a set of stairs leading up to a glass enclosed room. Anthea lead John and the officer up the stairs. To John’s surprise Greg Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson were both there waiting for him.

“John!” Greg said as the door opened and John stepped in. “What are you doing here?!”

“I don’t know, but . . .” John glanced around at the armed guards and the workers. “I bet you Mycroft’s to blame for this.”

“Mycroft Holmes? What does he want with us?” Greg asked.

Mrs. Hudson stepped forward and John wrapped a protective arm around the older woman. “Oh, John, do you think this has something to do with Sherlock?”

“Most likely, Mrs. Hudson.”

John glanced at the other two people. They didn’t seem surprised by John’s comment. They must have known that Sherlock was alive too. John wondered how many people had actually known that the man had faked his death, leaving John heartbroken and despondent.

Reading John’s mind, Greg said, “The bastard surprised me in the underground carpark at the Yard. Oh sorry Mrs. Hudson.”

“It’s alright, dear. He came back to Baker Street and scared me nearly to death.” The older woman dabbed at non-existent tears as she recalled Sherlock’s reappearance.

“So if we know he is alive, then why are we all here?” John asked. Then he heard the voice that had been haunting him for two years.

“Think, John. It is so obvious.”

The three people turned and saw Sherlock standing in the doorway wearing his usual black suit and white shirt. Greg groaned and Mrs. Hudson gasped. John made a more hissing sound at seeing the man again. John stepped forward protectively blocking Greg and Mrs. Hudson from Sherlock.

“What is so bloody obvious?” he growled.

“The shooting today. You were the intended target. It appears all the work I’ve done over the last two years was for naught.” Sherlock stepped further into the room.

“The shooting? Over at King’s College?” Greg asked. “John, were you there?”

“I was standing next to the young man who was killed. Are you telling me that boy didn’t need to die? That because of you, another innocent victim is dead?” The anger and frustration boiled in John.

“I thought I had dismantled all of Moriarty’s enterprises but there was someone behind the scenes slowly pulling them back together. As quickly as I knocked down one criminal network, another appeared to replace it. More violent and more destructive than previously.” Sherlock said ignoring both John’s and Greg’s questions. “And they seem to following through with Moriarty’s orders.”

“Wait, Moriarty . . . again?” Greg asked.

“I thought he was dead. I thought I saw him shoot himself in the mouth on the roof of St. Bart’s.” Sherlock said.

“But there was no body? We never found his body. Was he faking his death like you?” Greg started to argue with Sherlock.

“I saw him shoot himself, I believed he was dead! But . . .” Sherlock finally turned and acknowledged Greg.

Then Sherlock’s eyes fell upon John. For the briefest of moments there was softness there. A glimpse of regret and trepidation.

“John,” Sherlock whispered.

“NO, Sherlock! There is a dead boy out there right now. Dead just because he was standing next to me. Why!? I want to know why!?” John spoke so softly he was barely able to be heard but the wave of anger and hurt was as hard as steel.

Sherlock’s head shook once, as if he had been slapped by the words themselves. He abortively raised his hands as if to plead then slowly lowered them.

“It was simple. Moriarty wanted more than just my death. He wanted my humiliation. He worked to discredit me and then he forced me to commit suicide to prove I was a fraud. Make it look like I was too weak to live with the disgrace.” Sherlock glanced around the room for moment, collecting his thoughts. “He told me he had three snipers . . . three snipers for the three people who mattered most to me.”

Greg glanced at Mrs. Hudson who was looking at him. Together they both turned and looked at John, who was still glaring at Sherlock.

“Either I take my life or he would take . . . yours.”

“Why didn’t you tell us . . . tell me?” John said as his teeth gritted together.

“I knew that even after my death, he would keep surveillance up on you. I needed your reactions to be honest. He would have seen through any deceit.”

“But if you thought Moriarty was dead, then why hide from us?” Greg asked.

“I believed he took his life on the rooftop that day. I was sure of it. But the body was missing when Mycroft’s men arrived to remove it. Either Moriarty is still alive or someone wants us to think he is still alive. Either way, I couldn’t expose the three of you to any more danger.” Sherlock said.

“Great . . . fine! You’ve told us your story although you haven’t apologies. Now let us leave. I have a life to get back too that doesn’t include you.” John said as he marched towards the door.

The guard in the room, stepped in front of the door and brought his weapon up at port arms. John halted and for a moment his hand to hand combat training flashed through his head.

“John . . . John I need you.” Sherlock said as his voice broke.

John paused. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He spun and took two measured steps forward until he was within inches of Sherlock.

“One word . . . that was all I needed, one word. I would have been at your side and been there for you.”

“I couldn’t, John.”

“Yes you could, but you didn’t want too. You didn’t need me then and I don’t need you now.”

“There’s an underground network planning a terrorist attack on London.” Sherlock quickly said.

“Underground network? Look around, Sherlock. It’s probably your brother and this crew. Scurrying around like rats in a Tube tunnel.”

“John, I need you.”

“I don’t care.” John said without actually understanding what Sherlock was trying to say to him. His anger was still burning brightly.

“John, we need to stop this underground network.” Sherlock pressed ignoring how John’s words made him hurt. The sound of them echoing inside his head.

_‘I have a life that doesn’t include you. I would have been there for you . . . with you. I don’t care.’_

Sherlock wanted to pull back. He wanted to hide because it hurt so much. But he knew he couldn’t. He needed John to come with to him. He needed John.

Then the spark lit. It came to him. The video tape of the train. The missing passenger. The underground network.

“Say that again!” Sherlock said as he took a step back from John.

“What? I don’t care?” John sound incredulous.

“No . . . before.” Sherlock stared out to the middle distance. Not seeing John or anyone else in the small room.

John blinked as he realized Sherlock had once again come up with the answer. Falling into the familiar connection without knowing it, John followed.

“Underground network . . . It’s probably your brother and this crew. Scurrying around like rats in a Tube tunnel?”

“Rats . . . tunnel!” Sherlock spun around clapping his hands together gleefully.

“Sherlock? What is it?” Greg shouted.

“I know! I know! It’s not underground network . . . it’s Underground network!” Sherlock grabbed his mobile and pulled it out of his pocket. “Look!”

He quickly opened up his documents and showed John and Greg the video of the subway train passing through the various stations with one passenger in the last car. Then at the next station the passenger was missing.

“Did you see it?” Sherlock asked.

“See what?” John concentrated on the small screen, not looking at Sherlock.

“Count the cars, John.”

Sherlock replayed the video and John counted the cars as they left the station. Six. And then as they pulled into the next station. Five.

“So not only is the passenger missing but the whole car?” John asked.

“Yes. And it is somewhere under Westminster at this very moment.”

 


	7. Under Westminster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A retelling of The Empty Hearse. Big spoiler for the episode if you haven't seen it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments and kudos. The story will be longer than fourteen chapters but I'm not quite sure yet how long. Please enjoy.

When Bond walked into the dining room, Moran was already sitting down at the table. A half-eaten breakfast was on the plate pushed backed so he could set his IPad on the table to read it.

Sutcliff was sitting next to Moran. He glanced up at Bond through this thick eyebrows, giving him an appearance of a troll. Sutcliff had been talking but Moran appeared not to be listening. Dark haired man’s hands were curled into a fist around the handle of his knife.

Bond went and poured himself a cup of coffee as he watched the two men out of the corner of his eye. The blond soldier was dressed in comfortable cotton canvas trousers and a heavy denim shirt. The cuffs were rolled up, exposing his muscled forearms. Bond noticed a tattoo on the inside of Moran’s left forearm. It was a military insignia but Bond couldn’t read which unit. Sutcliff was wearing a dark knit turtle neck jersey. It clung to his body and accentuated the man’s lean muscles underneath the fabric.

Moran looked like he had recently showered. His hair was combed back and drying. His face freshly shaved. Bond didn’t notice any marks on Moran like he had on Q only a few hours earlier. Apparently, Q was not as enthusiastic about leaving evidence of his lust as Moran was.

Moran leaned back in his chair and growled softly. He then looked up and saw Bond standing at the end of table, drinking his coffee.

“Sit down.” Moran said. It reminded Bond more of an order than a request.

There was only one other place set at the table. Bond sat down at it glancing around.

“Did your husband already eat?”

“He’s sleeping in. We won’t see him till after lunch . . . if then.” Moran winked at Bond.

Bond’s stomach knotted.

“He’s too skinny. You should insist he eats something. Put some weight on him. It would be healthier for him.” Bond said as the steward came into the room.

“He’s always been skinny. Even as a kid, he was a runt. Ask for anything you want. The chef is good.” Moran returned his attention back to the tablet.

“We need to talk about . . . our plans.” Sutcliff continued.

“Everything is settled.” Moran said.

“But Moriston failed. And Holmes is alive.” Sutcliff replied.

Moran turned and frowned at the man. Bond saw Sutcliff shrink back. The dark haired man ducked his head and looked down at this plate.

“I apologize but if he is alive, then he could . . . prevent us . . .”

“He’s busy with the doctor. We will proceed.” Moran snapped.

Sutcliff glanced at Bond who was appeared to be ignoring the two of them as he spoke to the steward. Bond asked the man for simple eggs and toast. He also requested some fresh fruit. The steward smiled respectfully and left.

“Bond, I need to leave for a few days.” Moran said as he closed his IPad. “I need to go to Amsterdam.”

“I can be ready to leave in five minutes.” Bond said keeping his eyes fixed on Moran.

The idea of letting this killer lose in Amsterdam with all of its young immigrants was making Bond’s skin crawl.

“Moran, we don’t know him well enough . . .” Sutcliff leaned closer to Moran to speak, but loud enough for Bond to hear him.

Moran turned and glared at the man. “I know him well enough. That’s what count’s.”

Moran turned back to Bond. Bond kept his face neutral. He could see a power vacuum building within Moran’s organization and he knew he could fill it. Helping him to bring Moran down.

“No, I need you stay here. You need to guard Pup.” Moran said as he held up his coffee cup.

The steward rushed forward and poured a second cup for the man. The steward went and refilled Bond’s cup then retreated from the table. Sutcliff scowled at the young steward then held up his empty cup. Liam rushed forward and pour coffee into Sutcliff’s cup.

“Bastard.” Sutcliff mumbled.

“Leave the pot and get out.” Moran said.

The steward blanched and quickly set the pot down on the linen tablecloth. He turned and rushed from the room as the men’s eyes followed the young man out.

“What is going on?” Bond asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about. Sutcliff and I will get off the boat at Strasbourg. The captain will take the boat up the Rhine and then over onto the Neckar. I’ll meet you all in Heidelberg in three days. Four at the most.”

“I should be with you. What am I going to do on a river cruise? Sightsee?” Bond needed to keep Moran under observation.

“Pup’s last bodyguard had . . . an accident. Swallowed something that made him sick. Pup needs a new bodyguard. That will be you.” Sutcliff said.

Bond turned and looked carefully at Moran. He wondered if Sutcliff knew about Bond’s private conversation with Q and informed Moran.

“What makes you think I would make a good bodyguard for your husband?” Bond asked Moran while ignoring Sutcliff. Bond was trying to decide if it was a trap.

“I’ve seen the way you look at a woman. Deciding which one you would like to take to dinner and which one you want to take to bed. Men aren’t your thing.” Moran said with a smile.

This wasn’t the time to correct the man and explain that Bond was bisexual. Bond reminded himself to keep his wandering eye off the young Mister Moran’s arse next time he saw him.

“That’s still not a good reason to leave me here while you go off to Amsterdam. If you need help . . . an extra gun, there is no one better than me.”

“Cocky?” Moran smiled.

“Certain.” Bond didn’t smile back.

Moran’s smile grew until his whole face lit up. “I like you, Bond. You remind me of me.” Then he glanced up and shouted. “Get back in here!”

The door opened and the steward came in carrying Bond’s breakfast. The young man quickly set it down and then poured more coffee in Moran’s and Bond’s empty cups once again ignoring Sutcliff’s.

“It’s not what you think it is. I need to be visible tonight night. Be seen.”

“Plausible deniability?” Bond asked.

“Yeah. There will be . . . an incident tonight and I need everyone to think I wasn’t involved.” Moran sipped his black coffee.

Bond slowly stirred the sugar into his cup. ‘ _An incident tonight.’_ The implications were obvious. Something big was going to happen. Something so big that there would be international investigations going on. Not for the second or third time since he had seen Moran in Germany did Bond wish he had a secure way to contact Tanner.

~Q~

Sherlock and John entered the Underground Tube station at Westminster. The evening rush hour had the halls and platforms packed full of commuters. Sherlock glanced left and right before he went to an access door and popped the lock.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“Stopping a crime.” Sherlock simply answered.

The two men went into the service tunnel and followed it down to the abandoned tracks. John kept in step with Sherlock. Adrenaline pumped through his veins making him feel alive again. His mind pushed back the arguing voice that told him to leave. To have nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes.

John knew he should leave. He knew he couldn’t trust Sherlock. He was still furious at the man for lying to him. But yet, John also knew he needed Sherlock. He needed to see him and be with him. Sherlock’s presence made it easier for John to breath. The tall detective loosened the knots that tightened around John’s chest and caused the pain in his leg. Sherlock’s brilliance brought light and warmth into John’s bleak world. And like it or not, John was addicted to the man and the danger that followed him. Addicted to his arrogance and humor. His naivety and candor. Sherlock could see everything but his own ignorance. And even that was captivating to John.

Sherlock jumped down onto the sleepers of the railroad bed.

“Sherlock? Isn’t the power on? We could get electrocuted.” John pointed to the third rail.

“Don’t step on it.” Sherlock smiled wickedly.

Hesitantly, John jumped down in to the center of the railroad line, landing lightly on the concrete sleepers.

“Now explain who that man was in the video again.” John said as he caught up to Sherlock.

“Ronald Adair. He is the Under Secretary to the Foreign Office. He is also a gambler. A bad one.” Sherlock said as he held his torch; the light shone into the inky blackness of the tunnel.

“A bad one?”

“Yes. He is in debt to numerous individuals. Apparently one of whom wishes to exploit his position.” Sherlock said.

John thought for a moment. “Foreign Office? Was he the one who leak information about you to the General?”

“Probably. Mycroft will need to be more careful regarding his interoffice memos.”

Sherlock paused and looked up. The light from his torch illuminated the walls of an air duct above them. Small explosive packages were carefully positioned around the walls of the air duct for several feet, climbing up towards the building above them.

“John . . .”

John saw the bombs and his heart began to race. Memories of the damage IEDs caused came flooding back to him. He grabbed his mobile but frowned when he saw he had no service.

“We need to notify the police, Sherlock!”

“There is a bomb waiting to blow up Parliament. This is not the time for the police.”

Sherlock kept walking ahead. Within a minute, the two men came upon the abandoned train car. They climbed aboard and quickly searched it. They found that the entire car was full of explosives. The car itself was the bomb. Sherlock removed the access panel in the floor and found the detonation device.

“Disarm it!” John ordered.

“What makes you think I know how to disarm a bomb?” Sherlock asked stunned.

The seconds ticked down in red numbers as two men argued. Finally, Sherlock told John to leave- to save himself.

“It’s too late to run, Sherlock.” John lied. “We need to stop this together.”

John’s heart was beating rapidly. The adrenaline was surging through him as he felt more alive than he had in two years. Leaving now would be leaving Sherlock again and John knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t survive without the mad man. He needed Sherlock as much as he needed air. It would be better to die together than to ever live apart.

Sherlock looked up at his friend and for the last time he said sincerely.

“John, I am sorry. I am sorry for all the pain and suffering I caused you.”

John could finally see sincerity in Sherlock’s silver blue eyes. He knew he couldn’t die this way. Not still angry with his friend. His best friend. Not when there was so much they meant to each other.

“Of course I forgive you.” John said fighting back the emotions he was feeling.

John closed his eyes and waited for the blast. He knew in his mind he would barely feel anything but that didn’t stop him from worrying. He wondered if it would be the heat first or the sensation of being cut by the debris he would feel. Would he realize his body was being torn apart? He waited- and waited. Nothing.

He opened his eyes to see Sherlock laughing softly. Glancing down he saw the red numbers blinking as the clock had stopped with over two minutes to go.

John cursed and swore. He was overwhelmed with the desire to both punch and kiss Sherlock at the same time. He turned and saw the lights from men dressed in black combat gear, coming down the tunnel towards them.

“And you called the police, too?” He asked accusingly.

Which only caused Sherlock to laugh harder. By the time the police arrived at the train car, both men were laughing uncontrollably gripping the metal poles to keep themselves standing.

~Q~

John didn’t even question it when he went home with Sherlock that night. He entered 221B as if he still lived there. The rooms still smelled of the two of them. Chemicals and tea. Dusty books and cordite. It was familiar and comforting. John stood in the front room and glanced around. His chair was still there facing Sherlock’s. The skull was still on the mantel. It was also welcoming but still out of reach. There was something gnawing a John. He knew he shouldn’t be here. The realization that regardless of how much he wished it was his home, it wasn’t.

“Well, I guess I should be leaving.” John said. He glanced around the room but didn’t move from his spot of worn rug.

“Leave!? Why!” Sherlock spun around and stared at John.

“It’s late and . . . we both need to get some sleep. It’s been one helluva’ day.”

“But you are here.” Sherlock said confused.

“Yes and here is not my home.” John said. He folded his hands behind his back and rocked onto the ball so his feet. Pushing his chin forward, he fell into a military stance for comfort.

Sherlock glanced around as if he was surprised by his surroundings. “But it is your home . . . I’m mean it was and . . . should be.”

John looked carefully at Sherlock. Once again, the younger man had the seemingly ‘little boy lost’ look to himself. The looked that convinced John that Sherlock was truly naïve about the world and relationships in general.

“Sherlock . . .” John started. There was softness and gentleness to his voice. The same he used on frighten children in his clinic.

“I said I was sorry, John. Don’t you believe me?”

“Yes, I believe you but . . . it’s not like we can just forget everything that happened?” Although he wish it could be true. John thought how wonderful it would be to forget all the sadness and pain he had endured for the last two years but reality was a different thing.

“I want you here, John. I need you, here.” Sherlock stepped closer pushing himself once again into John’s personal space.

John smiled softly. He wondered if Sherlock would ever grasp proxemics. Personal space was completely unknown to the man.

“Sherlock, I wish I could make you understand . . .”

Sherlock stepped closer and trapped John’s face between his two hands. He hesitated for a moment, staring intently into John’s dark blue eyes. Then Sherlock leaned in and kissed John’s surprised mouth.

A warm brush of firm plump lips against John’s dry ones. The taste of cigarettes and mint. John heard a moan and realized it was coming from himself. His hands reached up and pressed into Sherlock’s chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to push the other man away.

Sherlock shifted and initiated a second kiss. His mouth opening slightly as his tongue lapped softly over John’s lower lip. Sherlock stepped closer. His body pressing into John’s. Then he pulled back. His eyes focused on John’s while his hands still held the other man’s face.

“Now, do you understand?” Sherlock’s voice dropped low and rumbled into John’s body.

The blond shivered as he felt a rush of heat surge through his body.

“Sherlock?” he whispered.

Slowly, Sherlock moved forward again, but it was John who closed the distance between them and pushed up onto his toes to kiss Sherlock’s mouth. John’s tongue probing at the seam of Sherlock’s lips. Asking and being granted entrance. John tasted more. The mint and the cigarettes but also tea and something that was specifically Sherlock. Somewhere in the back of his mind a bell went off that he would have to speak to Sherlock about smoking but right now he couldn’t care. He just wanted to kiss Sherlock. It seemed so right and so indecent at the same time.

John’s hands slipped up and round Sherlock’s neck, pulling the man closer. Sherlock’s tongue chasing after John’s. Caresses and sighs followed by truly lurid moans from each man.

Sherlock’s hands slipped from John’s face to his chest. The long finger slipping under the edge of John’s jacket to open it up and push it off the man’s shoulders. John struggled. He wanted to get his jacket off, but he didn’t want to let go of Sherlock.

Then, when the contact was broken between hands and lips, John took a rapid breath in. Sucking air in between this teeth. Like a man breaking the surface of the water before drowning.

“Sherlock . . . stop!” John rasped out.

“John?!” Sherlock’s hand reached out and grasped at John and tried to pull him close again.

“No . . . I need . . . we can’t . . .” John forced himself to take another step back.

He looked up into Sherlock’s face. The absolute despondence in the younger man’s expression. John thought he could actually see the ice forming again round Sherlock’s heart.

“No . . . no, that’s not what I mean.” John stepped forward wanting to kiss Sherlock again but he stopped himself. “I just . . . I’m . . . Sherlock, what are we doing?”

Sherlock dipped his chin down and intensified his stare at John. “You’re not going to start with that ‘I’m not gay’ thing again are you?” Sherlock’s eyes traveled down to the obvious bulge in John’s jeans.

“Well, I’m not gay!” John looked flustered. A blush colored his tan cheeks. “Well, not for anyone but you, apparently. But that is not what I mean. Don’t toy with me, Sherlock. Do you really mean this? This isn’t someway to trick me into moving back in, is it?”

Sherlock took a step forward. His eyes fixed on John like a predator after its prey.

“John, you can’t imagine how much I hated those women you dated. How much I wanted to slip my hands around their scrawny necks and squeeze. None of them, not one was worth your second glance. You, my dear Watson, are everything I want. And you are mine. Only mine. I’ve wanted you since that night at the pool. I’ve wanted to touch and hold and taste you since I knelt before you, tearing that bomb vest off of you.”

John felt his blood rush away from his brain. He swayed as he felt a warmth flood his body. Sherlock’s voice was deep and sensual. Like velvet dragging over his skin. His mouth went dry and John licked his lips, tasting Sherlock there.

“Yes, I want you back here, but not as my flatmate. Not as my friend, John. I want you. I have spent the last two years thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you and to hold you. What I would do to you once I got you in my bed. Your hands on my body. My mouth on yours.” Sherlock stepped close enough that his chest was pressed to John’s. Sherlock brought his hands up and wrapped them around John’s waist. “If there is anything in this world I am more certain of, than my feelings towards you, John Watson, I have no idea what it would be.”

John looked up at Sherlock through hooded eyes.

“Then more fool you, Sherlock Holmes.”

John leaned up and recaptured Sherlock’s lips as his arms wrapped around the man’s shoulders pulling him down to the doctor.


	8. A Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moran leaves the Empress and Bond is alone with Q.

Moran jumped from the deck down to the dock before the crew had even tied up. He rushed across the metal dock and up the hill to the waiting car. Sutcliff was slower to disembark from the Empress. He stumbled as he climbed the hill. Moran was standing next to the car glaring down at the man as he picked himself up off the ground.

“Come on, Archie. The helicopter won’t wait forever.”

Sutcliff brushed the dirt off his trousers and finished climbing up the path towards Moran.

“You’d a washed out of basic the first week.” Moran growled at the man.

“My expertise is using my brain instead of my muscles.” Sutcliff snapped back.

“Shame you never learned to exercise you brain as often as you do your mouth. Seems to me, it’s as flabby as your muscles.”

Moran got into the car before Sutcliff could say anything else. The dark haired man glanced back at the boat and saw Bond standing on the deck. Sutcliff glared at Bond, then a snide expression came to the man’s face. Bond watched as Sutcliff got in and the car drove off. His fist bounced on the railing. Bond wondered if Moran and Sutcliff were going to meet up with Moriarty. Would the three be together while he was stuck here on the boat with Q? He needed to be with Moran and keep that man under surveillance. Not remain behind and play babysitter to the man’s sex toy.

At the back of Bond’s mind he worried about what was going to happen. What kind of event required Moran to have a flawless alibi? High profile assassination or an audacious theft? Maybe a terrorist attack? The possibilities were limitless and Bond was sitting here on a boat unable to stop it.

It rankled the man as he stepped back inside the boat and into the salon. He glanced around and wondered if there was someone on the crew he could covertly interrogate to discover what Moran’s plans were. Maybe he could gain the confidence of the captain and tease the information out of the man about Moriarty.

The Empress was already turning back into the current and slowly sailing down river. Bond stood near the front windows and watched as the wind cause small whitecaps to appear on the water. The door of the salon opened and Pup Moran came into the salon. He gasped slightly when he saw Bond standing there in the room.

“Sebastian left you behind?” Q asked.

“I assume he leaves you behind all the time.” Bond said bitingly. It didn’t get the effect he was expecting. Q gave a small smile that seemed to warm his hazel green eyes.

“I don’t complain about being left alone. I’m sure there are several things you could find to amuse yourself on board.” Q walked passed Bond and up to the piano.

Bond realized the perfect person to question was Moran’s husband. He went and poured himself and Q a drink. He walked over and set the tumbler down on the piano. Q glanced at it and frowned. He picked it up and set it off to the side.

“I don’t like scotch. I prefer red wine. And the alcohol will ruin the finish on the wood if it spills.”

“Guess I will have to lick it up, if it does.” Bond let his voice purr.

Q turned and looked at the man. His eyes large and wary. Bond carefully sat down beside Q on the bench, making sure that he was not touching the other man at all.

“Does your husband leave you often?” Bond asked as he started to play a few keys with his one hand.

“He is very busy. I only see him when work allows.” Q said. His eyes fixed on Bond.

“I guess Moriarty keeps him busy.”

Q froze. Bond could see the young man blanch.

“Moriarty?” There was a tremble to Q’s voice. Bond glanced sideways and noticed the young man had started to shake.

“Yea, your husband’s boss.”

Bond watched and the young man push himself away from Bond. Q fell backwards off the bench, crashing to the floor. Bond dropped his drink as he reached for the young man but Q scampered backwards, away from Bond.

“Q?! What is it?” Bond stood trying to catch the frightened man.

“No, no, no . . .” Q whispered under his breath. “He said . . .”

“Q, who said what? What is it? Why are you so frighten?”

Q climbed to his feet and waved Bond back away from him.

“Don’t . . . stop!” Q shouted.

Bond stopped approaching. Q had pushed himself into a corner of the room. His raised hand was shaking and Bond could see the young man was terrified to death.

“Tell me, Q. Tell me and I will protect you.” Bond said as calmly as he could.

“I . . . I’m going to be sick.”

Q rushed passed Bond and out of the salon. Bond thought to go after the young man but hesitated. Whatever he had said had absolutely panicked the young man. Bond needed to consider what had just happened.

~Q~

Bond wandered the ship for the rest of the day. Occasionally, he would check with the radio room to see if there were any interesting news reports coming through. The young sailor shook his head no and returned to listening to music on his headset. The captain was on the bridge and Bond wasn’t allowed to enter the area. None of the other crew seemed interested in a conversation with Bond.

Bond spent the day waiting. Moran had taken away his phone as soon as they met. His laptop was taken away when he got on the boat. Bond had no way of communicating with MI6. He had no way of knowing what Moran or Moriarty were doing. He was beyond frustrated. It was after midnight when he checked with the radio man one more time. Again, nothing to report. He returned to his cabin and laid down on the bed wondering how he could get to Moran. Surely the man would return to his husband but Q told him that Moran was gone for long stretches of time. The idea of being stuck here for weeks with the young Pup Moran would be pleasant if it wasn’t for the need to find and stop his husband.

Finally, Bond dozed off around three-thirty in the morning. Still no news and still no idea how he was going to get to Moran then to Moriarty.

When the first rays of sunlight came in through the windows, the ship was already traveling up the Neckar River towards Heidelberg. Bond leapt out of bed, still wearing the clothes from the previous night. He rushed up to the dining room. The steward and Q were already there. The young Mister Moran glanced up at Bond as he came in. He first looked into Bond’s face, then his eyes traveled lower and over the wrinkled clothes Bond was wearing.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Q asked. His face was neutral and difficult for Bond to read.

“No. Are you feeling better?” Bond said eyeing the young man carefully.

“Yes, I’m quite fine. I apologies for my behavior yesterday. I was overcome with Sebastian leaving. I am missing him terribly.” Q looked back down at his sliced grapefruit.

Bond thought the boy was a terrible liar but said nothing. He sat down diagonally across from Q as the steward poured him some coffee.

“I wish I had some outside news. I would like to know what is going on in the world.” Bond said as he slowly added sugar to his coffee. “Any chance at a newspaper or television?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Sebastian has told the crew to withhold news from me. If you like, the captain has a television in his private cabin. He might be willing to let you use it.” Q said as he carefully ate his breakfast.

“You don’t get to know what is going on in the world? I guess that makes things difficult when you leave the boat?”

Q bowed his head lower and the steward made of coughing noise deep in his throat. Bond’s eyes shifted quickly between the two young men. Q set his fork down and sat up straight.

“Liam, I’m done. Thank you.” Q said almost so softly that Bond didn’t hear him.

“Sir? You should eat something. You don’t want to get sick again.” The steward said.

“Please Liam,” Q glanced over at Bond then back down. “I’m done.”

The steward step forward and removed the plate with the partially eaten grapefruit.

“Would sir care for anything else?” The steward asked.

“No, thank you.” Q said as reached up and briefly squeezed Liam’s hand. Then he let go and let his own hand drop into his lap. Bond watched surprised by the fleeting contact. He was so focus on the space where the two men had just had their hands he didn’t noticed that Q’s green eyes turned onto him.

The two men stared at each other without saying a word as the steward left the dining room. When the door was closed and they were alone, Q spoke.

“I’m not allowed to leave the boat.”

“Never?” Bond asked.

“I’ve been aboard for ten years now. Sebastian comes and sees me when he can. Otherwise, the captain and the crew just sail up and down the rivers of Europe. I can only see the cities we pass through from the deck. I haven’t stepped on grass since I was twenty.” The emotion in Q’s voice was evident.

It was obvious, Q was as much a prisoner as Bond was.

“Is Liam . . . your lover?”

Q smiled sadly. “No, he is my only friend. He wants to leave the boat but he is afraid for me. He won’t go unless I leave too.”

“If you could leave, would you?” Bond asked.

Q’s eyes blinked rapidly, then he looked away. “It won’t ever happen so there is no reason to wonder if I would. This is where I live and where I will always be. Sebastian is my husband and I am his.”

Bond reached across the table to grasp Q’s trembling hand. The young man pulled it back before Bond could touch it.

“It sounds like a horrible life, Q. I wouldn’t let anyone I care about live like this.” Bond said softly.

A sad smile came to Q’s lips. “It’s not as bad as you think. I have gourmet chefs and first class service. Beautiful scenery always changing outside my window. Sebastian allows me to use my computer. He brings movies aboard for us to watch when he is in the mood. I can talk to the crew and captain whenever I like. There is even a gym and sauna.”

“Do you like to work out?” Bond asked looked quickly over the young man’s body. He didn’t look very strong to him.

“I jog on the treadmill.”

“A treadmill? I prefer to run early in the morning around the park.” Bond said hoping the change of subject would reduce the tension of the moment. Maybe tempt Q into thinking about leaving his gilded cage.

Q glanced at him and smiled. “You should use the gym. It could relieve some of your stress. I will ask the captain to loan you his television.”

Bond wasn’t interested in the television but if he could get his hands on Q’s computer.

“No, don’t bother him. What do you do with your computer?” Bond asked as Liam the steward returned with Bond’s breakfast.

“Oh, a little of this and little of that. Sebastian lets me hack into different systems, but only when he is here.”

“So it has internet access? Does the boat have Wi-Fi?”

“Yes, but it’s only turned on when Sebastian is here. I design things when he is not here. Create things for him.” Q said wistfully.

“Like what?”

Q hummed then smiled. It was a bright smile that lite up the young man’s face.

“The passport you had to go to Serbia . . . I made that here on the ship.” Q said.

“You’re kidding me?” Bond was surprised. The passport was the best forgery he had ever seen.

“Yes,” Q said proudly.

The steward poured another cup of coffee for Bond as Q finished his tea.

“I know people who would pay you a great deal of money for forgeries that good. Moran should let you expand. You could be rich in your own right.”

Q looked sad again. “I doubt he would allow that.”

Bond looked back up at Q again. The young man’s head was bowed again.

“I would like to see how you made the passport.” Bond said softly.

“You would?” Q looked up at him.

“Yes.”

Even though Q did not appear upset, there was something else going on behind his eyes. A sort of sad acceptance. A resignation. It instantly made Bond want to shake the boy. Bring him back to the living. Anything to make him smile again like Bond had seen before.

Q glanced away and around the well-appointed dining room. Then he paused and stared at the shoreline in the distance.

“Do you enjoy boats?”

“I was in the navy.” Bond said.

“I hate them.” Q said softly.

Bond could understand Q’s hatred if he was never allowed to leave.

“Why don’t you show me how you made that passport after we finish breakfast?”

Q turned back to him and looked Bond in the face. The sadness had left and Q almost appeared blank to Bond. Completely emotionless.

“You should check out the gym. How long do you run for when you are home?” Q asked.

“Depends . . . forty-five minutes to an hour.” Bond said.

Q nodded his head, the glanced away. “It’s on the third deck. Second to last door on the left. The sauna is in there too. You should take advantage of it.”

Bond wondered if Q was trying to distract him. If it was possible for the young man to escape the boat, he would do it when Bond was in the gym, but he knew no one but Liam would assist Q in getting off. Besides the boat was in the middle of a river. Q didn’t look like he could swim to the shore before he was caught.

“Sure, would you like to join me?” As soon as he asked it, Bond realized it was a mistake.

Q’s head snapped back and he stared aghast at Bond.

“You look like you could use some exercise too. Get your frustration out.” Bond said trying to cover up his mistake.

Q blushed and slowly closed his eyelids. “No, I’ll be alright. I’ll be in the salon in an hour and a half. I’ll bring my computer and you can use it.”

“Why would I want to use your computer?” Bond asked wondering if he had let something slip.

“It’s obvious that you are more interested in my computer than what I can do with it.”

“Q . . .”

“It’s alright, James. I’ll see you in an hour and a half. That should give you more than enough time to run and use the sauna.” Q slowly rose from his seat. Liam stepped forward and pulled the chair back so Q could easily step around the table and leave.

Bond watched the young man as he disappeared down the hall.

~Q~

Bond went to his cabin and quickly showered. He changed into a cotton t-shirt and a pair of swim trunks. He never ran for exercise while on one of his missions, but if given the opportunity to sit in a quality sauna, he was not going to pass it up.

The gym was where Q said it would be. The room was twice the size of his cabin. There were two treadmills both looking out the bank of windows towards the starboard side of the boat. There were free weights and two other weight machines. There was also a heavy weight punching bag. It had several repairs to it. Patches of silver duct tape over the dirty canvas.

Instinctively, Bond stepped close to it and gave it a solid jab. The bag barely moved. It must have weighed well over two hundred and fifty pounds. He punched again, harder. The bag moved slightly, swinging on its chain. Bond looked at various patches. Moran must have the punch like a mule’s kick to cause damage to the bag.

The sauna was in the back of the room. The small enclosed area was lined with cedar paneling and benches along two walls. He could detect the slight scent of sweat inside the room. He found the controls for the sauna and turned on the heat. The heater hissed as cool water began to spray across the heating porcelain. Bond was adjusting the steam level when he noticed there were no towels on the rack by the glass door.

Bond remembered the generous towels in his cabin. He headed down to his room. His bare feet making no sound on the thick carpet. He opened the door of his cabin and stepped in. Q was standing just inside the door.

“What are you doing here!?” Bond asked as he slammed the door closed. His eyes did a quick visual search of room to see if anything was out of place.

“I . . . I . . . I was just looking. I was just wondering if . . .” Q stumbled over his words.

“Wondering what?!” Bond growled and stepped closer.

“Don’t touch me!” Q shouted.

“What are you doing in my room?! What were you looking for?!”

Q tried to rush around Bond but the blond blocked his exit.

“Let me out of here, or I’ll tell Moran!” Q gasped.

“Tell him that you came into my cabin without my permission?! I fucking dare you! You would be in more trouble than me!”

“I was just looking! I didn’t take anything or touch anything. Just let me go.” Q tried to leave again but Bond stopped him.

“You spoiled little brat.” Bond dropped his voice low and threatening. “You were just playing me, weren’t you? Making me feel sorry for you. Get out and don’t come in here again, you understand me?”

“Fuck you!” Q shouted.

The crack as Q slapped Bond’s face was loud and sharp. It seemed to surprise both men. Q stepped back. His eyes wide with fear. Bond realized Q didn’t know what Bond would do now. Maybe Bond would react like Moran would and beat him. Bond stepped back out of way and opened the door.

“I believe I told you to leave.” Bond said darkly.

Q glanced at him one more time, then rushed out of the room. Running down the hallway.

Bond closed the door and looked around again. Nothing seemed out of place. He opened the cupboard and looked at his clothes. They were just as he had left them. Bond went into the bathroom and glanced around. Nothing seemed off. He reached up and grabbed one of the towels off the shelf then turned back towards the mirror. He noticed the mirrored door over the sink was ajar. Just slightly open. He opened the cabinet behind the glass. His shaving kit was open. Bond took it down and looked inside. He dropped the kit in the sink and rushed out of the little bathroom. He ran out of his cabin and down the hall without closing the door. His straight razor was missing from his kit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have major triggers. Please read the tags. Please know and respect your triggers.


	9. "I'll Do Anything for You but That"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond stops Q and John doesn't stop Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A misquote from the Meatloaf song, "I will do anything for love but I won't do that." Thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos. I forgot to give a special thanks to ff_fan who is helping me with Beta and Britpicking this story. He is the greatest help.

John woke up confused. The first thing he realized was he was still wearing his clothes. Second, he was very warm. John could smell the faint scent of Sherlock on the pillow he was laying on. He felt fingers slowly dragging through his hair. It felt good.

John hummed and stretched. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up to see Sherlock. They were both in Sherlock’s bed. John laying on his left side and Sherlock was sitting up with his back against the headboard.

“Good mor’n . . .” John was still groggy with sleep.

“Good afternoon.” Sherlock continued to drag his fingers through John’s hair.

“Afternoon?” John tried to lift himself off the mattress but it seem like too much work. Giving up, John laid back down and curled into Sherlock’s leg.

“Yes, it’s on almost one-thirty.” Sherlock said. His fingers still playing with John’s hair.

“One-thirty?! Shit! I’m supposed to be at work. I have rounds!” John sat up and tried to roll off the bed. Sherlock grabbed John’s arm and pulled him back.

“I already called the hospital. I told them you wouldn’t be in today.” Sherlock said as John sat down heavily on the bed.

“Sherlock, I have students.” John pleaded.

“And I’m sure they would prefer their attending to be alert and coherent for rounds.” Sherlock leaned forward and lightly kissed John’s neck. The blond hummed and closed his eyes. “Besides, I didn’t want to wake you.” Sherlock placed another kiss just under John’s jaw.

“Truthfully?” John closed his eyes and tipped his head back, giving Sherlock more access to his throat.

“I didn’t want you to leave.”

Sherlock shifted his position and straddled John’s lap. Sherlock’s hands cupped either side of John’s face. The first kiss was warm and inviting. Neither man overly concerned about morning breath.

“I thought we agreed to take things slow.” John said between kisses. His hands rested comfortably on Sherlock’s hips.

“This is me going slow.” Sherlock said as his hands slipped back into John’s hair. The short blond strands bristled through his fingers.

John could feel the bulge through Sherlock’s pajama bottoms. It was poking him in his stomach. Sherlock nudged slightly, then harder, pushing John back down into the warm sheets. Sherlock spread himself over John’s prone body. His fingers interlaced with John’s as he pulled John’s arms up over his head.

Pressed together, from shoulder to hip, to knee, Sherlock took advantage of his position and ground his need down into John’s own groin.

“Fuuuck . . .” John moaned as he pulled his head back and swallowed hard.

“John, I feel like I am crawling, I’m going so slow.” Sherlock’s voice rumbled over John’s body. Like a wave crashed over him in the surf as it pushed him down further.

Sherlock’s mouth moved over John’s skin. He closed his teeth over the muscle in John’s neck and lightly bit down.

Blood was rushing rapidly away from John’s brain. His body was catching up swiftly to Sherlock’s and John’s need was growing. He pushed up and twisted his hips into Sherlock. The man laying over him growled and bit harder into his neck. John gasped and squeezed his fingers tighter around Sherlock’s.

“Sherlock, you promised . . .” John’s body refused to listen to his mind. He started to rut. Pushing up into Sherlock who met every movement with a teasing counterpoint.

Both men were panting and moving together. Their needs for release intensifying to the point that John had quickly forgotten every reason he had given the night before to wait to consummate their relationship.

He wanted to touch Sherlock. To taste him. Feel the man’s skin slide against his own. John felt his need for Sherlock as greatly as his need for air. He twisted his head in an attempt to capture Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock kept him pinned to the mattress as the desire was becoming impossible to control.

Sherlock let go of John’s throat and turned to face John. The smaller man immediately lifted his head to kiss the raven haired man. John’s tongue thrusting into Sherlock’s warm mouth. Swiping and licking every spot he could reach. Sherlock groaned loudly as his body sagged. John felt the pulsating member between the various layers of clothing. The knowledge that Sherlock had come untouched just from rubbing up against him made John’s inner alpha spirit howl. He thrust his hips up again and Sherlock moaned and he buried his face into John’s neck. Sherlock’s hands still pinning John’s to the bed.

“Sherlock, please . . . I need you touch me . . . fuuck!” John’s whispered voice was harsh with need. His body taking over as he rutted into Sherlock’s.

With great effort, Sherlock let go of John’s hand and slowly brought it down to the fly of John’s jeans. Sherlock shifted his body to the side to give himself some room. His long dexterous fingers worked the button open and drew the zipper down.

John hissed as Sherlock’s fingers brushed over the outline of John’s cock; lightly petting through the fabric of John’s pants. Then carefully, Sherlock pushed the waistband down and under John’s balls. Sherlock teased with light touches along John’s length as the smaller man kept thrusting up wanting – needing Sherlock to take him in hand.

“Please, Sherlock . . . your killing me!”

A wicked smile came to Sherlock’s contented face. He leaned up and whispered in John’s ear.

“I want to tie you to my bed and spend hours teasing you, just like this. Then I will . . .” He lightly bit down on John’s earlobe as he finally wrapped his hand around John’s cock and squeezed. Quick firm stokes was all it took.

“Son of a bitch . . .” John breathed out as his body tensed. His seed warmed Sherlock’s hand as he smeared it along the length.

It was several minutes until John’s breath eased back down and his vision returned to normal. Sherlock was still laying next to John on the bed. His body happily humming along with the good doctor’s.

John turned to look into Sherlock’s expectant face.

“Well? Do you still want to wait?” Sherlock asked smugly.

“Oh, quit being such a dick.” John said with smile on his face as he rolled over and kissed Sherlock.

~Q~

Bond’s straight razor was missing from his shaving kit. It had been there that morning. The only explanation was Q had taken it. He didn’t even knock on the door to Q’s cabin. He tried the doorknob then he kicked the door in.

“Q!” He shouted.

Bond glanced around the stateroom. The room was large and open. The brown and gold furniture seemed to be in place. The bed was neatly made. Q was not there.

Bond heard a crash of glass from the bathroom. He rushed forward to the door and opened it. Q was leaning against the far wall next to the vanity. The blade slipping through the skin of his wrist.

Bond slapped Q’s hand back. His uninjured wrist hit the edge of the vanity county. The blade dropped with a clatter into the sink. Blood was already running down Q’s hand and dripping onto the floor. Bond grabbed the hand towel from the rack and wrapped it tight around Q’s wrist. Q wailed as his legs collapsed underneath him. He started to slide to the floor. Bond wrapped his arm around Q’s waist and guided him down.

“No, please . . . I want to die . . . please, just let me . . . die.” Q moaned as Bond held him tight.

The young man began to cry and bury his face into Bond’s neck.

“Please, James . . . no more.”

Bond squeezed his hand around the towel around Q’s wrist, holding tight. From what Bond saw, the wound was not life threatening. Q had not cut at the right place. Bond doubted Q had even damaged the tendons let alone gone deep enough to nick an artery.

He kept Q is his arms as the young man shook. His arms tightly wrapped around Q.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll keep you safe.” Bond kept repeating to the man. “You are safe now.”

“You promise?” Q whispered.

“Yes.”

~Q~

There was a surprisingly well stocked first aid kit in the bathroom. Q told Bond that he had to often patch up Moran whenever he returned to the boat. Bond decided to go ahead and stitch the wound closed instead of using butterfly plasters. Q sat completely still as Bond poked the suture needle into the boy’s skin and dragged the silk thread through. He wrapped white gauze around the stitches and taped it close. Bond kept the stitched small and tight. He didn’t want to leave any more scars on Q’s flesh. The young man already had enough.

When he was done, Bond made Q take off the clothes he had gotten blood on and change into a set of pajamas. Q lay down on an oversize chaise longue after refusing to lay down in the bed he shared with Moran. The chaise was large enough for two people to spread out across it and Q looked even smaller in it. Bond found a blanket and spread it over the younger man.

“Are you going to leave?” Q asked as he looked up.

“I wasn’t planning on it. Just let me clean up the bathroom.”

Q nodded and turned to look out the window. The green countryside glided pass as the boat sailed up the river.

Bond went into the bathroom and picked up all the debris from the stitches. Then he rolled it into the bloody towel that had been around Q’s wrist. Next he grabbed the bloody clothes. Bond went to window and slid it open. The cool air from the river came in and Q shivered under his blanket. Bond poked his head out the window and looked around. No one was looking. He tossed the bloody clothes and towel out. They quickly landed in the water and floated away as the boat sailed up river.

Bond turned back and looked at Q.

“May I?” He waved his hand over the chaise.

Q didn’t say anything but opened the blanket up and Bond took it as an offer to sit down beside the young man. Q was still shaking and Bond scooted closer. Pulled Q beside him as he rearranged the blanket over both of them.

Q’s eyes were fixed on the passing scenery as Bond slipped his arm around the young man’s shoulders. Rubbing gently to warm Q’s cold body.

“What are you going to tell him?” Q asked without looking at Bond.

“You slipped getting out of the shower and knocked a glass off the counter. It broke and cut you.” Bond said. His eyes were also fixed on the dark green forest.

“He’ll be angry.”

“I don’t care, Q. I told you I would keep you safe. If I need to lie for you to do that, then I will lie.” Bond said.

Q leaned closer to Bond. His hand snaking around Bond’s waist so the young man could hug him. Q rested his head on Bond’s shoulder. Bond’s cheek brushed against the dark curls.

“How long have you been married?” Bond asked as they watched another ship sail pass them in the opposite direction.

“We’re not really married. He just says that.” Q held up his left hand and removed the silver ring on his finger. Hidden under the ring were three black lines braided together, inked into his pale skin. Q held his hand up for Bond to see the tattoo. “Sebastian likes to think of me being his prize. It’s permanent. He said we will never be apart. We’ve been together for ten years.” Q dropped his hand down and pulled it under the cover.

“And before that?” Bond asked. His thumb slowly tracing circles into Q’s shoulder.

“Before that I . . . belonged to someone else.” Q said softly.

“Who?” Bond wondered if there was going to be a long line of people he was going to have to hunt down and kill for Q.

“Moriarty. Jim Moriarty.”

Q twisted his face so that it was buried into Bond’s chest. Adrenaline spiked in Bond’s blood stream. That name . . . the person he was sent after had done this to Q.

“Is that why you were so frightened when I said his name last night?”

“I thought . . . Sebastian told me if I stayed on the boat I would be safe. Jim wouldn’t come after me. That I didn’t need to be frightened anymore. That Sebastian would protect me.” Q explained. His voice muffled slightly.

“But you don’t believe him?”

“No . . . Sebastian was the one who took me away from my family.”

“Would you like to see them again? I could get you out of here and back to them.”

“They’re gone . . . dead. Moran showed me the newspaper articles of my brother’s death . . . he committed suicide.” Q voice broke and he twisted and hid his face deeper into Bond’s shoulder.

James pulled Q closer and gave him a gentle squeeze. He waited until he was certain Q could continue.

“And your other brother? Your parents?”

“Sebastian told me, Moriarty murdered them. I was alone.” Q said as he slowly turned back to look out the window again at the river.

“You’re not alone, Q. When I leave, I will take you with me, back to England if you want. Or anywhere else you want to go. You don’t have to remain here. You don’t need someone like Moran to protect you. You don’t have to keep living like this.”

Q quit shaking. Bond gave him another soft squeeze and lightly kiss the top of Q’s head.

“I have nowhere to go.” Q whispered.

“Anywhere, Q. I promise. Anywhere where you will feel safe. I will take you there.”

~Q~

It was almost six in the evening when John and Sherlock came out of the bedroom. They were laughing. Leaning against each other occasionally for another kiss. Sherlock twisted and leaned against the counter in the kitchen. He reached out and pulled John into his arms. John eagerly allowed the taller man to pull him close. Sherlock smiled down at John then turned his head slightly to capture John’s mouth in another kiss.

“Could you please show some restraint?” Mycroft said from Sherlock’s chair in the sitting room.

Both men froze, mere inches apart. John sagged and closed his eyes as he let a long breathe out. He lowered his head and rested it on Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock just growled at his brother.

“Can’t you see that you are intruding?”

“Sherlock, I waited as long as I could, but this is a matter of national security.” Mycroft said ignoring his brother’s petulance.

“It’s always a ‘matter of national security’ with you, Mycroft. Ever hear the story of the little boy who cried wolf?” Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on John as the smaller man took a step backwards. Sherlock brought his hand up and wrapped it around the back of John’s neck to prevent him from moving further away.

“Sherlock, it is about Sebastian Moran . . .”

Sherlock’s head snapped in the direction of his brother. His hands slipped away from John as he pushed himself away from the counter.

“You said MI6 was handling that. What happened?”

“Apparently, Mallory’s operative failed. The agent has disappeared. Moran on the other hand has made himself very visible. He was seen last night in Amsterdam. At the same moment you were running around in the Underground tunnels, Moran was dinning on a canal boat.”

“We weren’t running around in the Tube tunnels. We were saving your precious Parliament from being blown up.” Sherlock corrected his brother.

“Yes, yes. The Queen has mentioned her ‘thank you’s’. I have Moran under surveillance now. He is leaving Amsterdam tomorrow morning and heading back to Germany. I can have you there before he arrives.” Mycroft said as his eyes scanned over the screen on his phone.

“No planes.” Sherlock said. “The doctors wish me to avoid any pressurization for a few more weeks.”

Mycroft sigh dramatically. “Alright, the Eurostar is leaving St Pancreas in an hour. First class of course.”

“Of course.” Sherlock said sitting down in John’s usual chair.

The doctor was confused and a little annoyed that the two brothers seemed to forgotten his presence again.

“Wait a moment . . . you just got out of the hospital for pneumonia and stopped a major terrorist attack. I’m sure there is someone else who can go after this . . . moron character.” John stepped forward.

“Moran, John.” Sherlock said but his attention was focused on Mycroft.

“Please, John, this is a Holmes matter and none of your concern.” Mycroft said.

“Sherlock is my concern and the two of us have made promises . . .”

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed while Mycroft finally looked up at John. His eyes brows moving rapidly into his hairline.

“Promises? Should we be expecting a happy announcement soon?” Mycroft quibbled.

“Only that you will shortly be launched out of the window.” John growled.

Sherlock quickly unfolded his long legs and stood. He rushed over to John and leaned into the shorter man’s personal space.

“Colonel Sebastian Moran . . .” Sherlock said, then repeated himself. “Sebastian Moran. Moriarty’s right hand man. If anyone knows whether or not that Moriarty survived the rooftop shooting and is manipulating things from his hiding place . . . it will be Moran.”

John looked up at Sherlock with conviction.

“Alright, then together.” John said. Sherlock smiled.

“John, this is no place for amateurs.” Mycroft said from his seat.

“John is not an amateur.” Sherlock said as he continued to smile at John.

“Two tickets, Mycroft. Both first class to Amsterdam.” John said his eyes locked on Sherlock’s.

“Heidelberg.” Mycroft said rising from his chair. “And please gentlemen, the train ride is seven and half hours long. Please refrain from doing anything that will get you arrested for indecency.”

“No promises.” John said with a smile.


	10. Lying to Moran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moran returns and find's Q's injury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There will be a conversation about what happened to Q while he was being held by Moriarty. I have hinted to it previously, but now it is discussed. Also there were be domestic abuse in this chapter. Please be aware of your triggers.   
> .

Moran was waiting on the stone quay when the boat docked. He was pacing back and forth as the crew quickly made the boat fast to the old iron bollard. Moran and Sutcliff waited while the gangplank was pulled over but Moran rushed onto the boat as soon as it was secured. Q was waiting for his husband in the reception area. Bond was standing beside him.

Moran’s face was fixed with an angry glare when he saw the two men. Q started to take a hesitant step back but then caught himself and remained still. Moran marched up to Q and wrapped his arm around the young man’s shoulders and pulled him to his chest.

“Things didn’t go according to plan.” Moran said as he turned towards Bond.

Sutcliff followed Moran into the reception area. He glared at Bond but said nothing.

“What happened . . . or didn’t happen?” Bond asked. He hadn’t heard any news reports of major events anywhere in the world.

“I don’t know but when I find out, there’s going to be hell to pay. There will be several opportunities for you to prove to me that you are as good with a sniper’s rifle as you claimed.” Moran finally smiled.

He reached down to grab Q’s hand; the young man flinched. Moran noticed and looked down at Q’s hand. He saw the bandage around the young man’s wrist.

“What happened?” Moran grabbed at the wrist as Q winced.

“It was my fault.” Q said.

Moran growled and turned towards Bond.

“I told you to keep him safe! What happened?!”

“It was an accident.” Bond said.

Moran punched Bond hard in the side of his face. The blond moved so fast that Bond didn’t realize what had happened until he was sprawled across the marble floor. Sutcliff smiled and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Accidents aren’t supposed to happen to my husband!” Moran growled.

Q twisted in Moran’s grasp and placed himself between Bond and his husband.

“I tripped coming out of the shower. I broke a water glass and cut myself. Bond stitched it up. If you must hit someone, hit me. It was my fault.” Q plead.

Bond stood up quickly. He wasn’t going to let Moran hit Q. Moran glared at his husband then down at Q’s wrist.

“Show me . . .” Moran said simply.

“What?” Q was confused.

“Show me the cut. I want to see it.”

Q fought to not shake. He lifted his wrist and slowly unwound the gauze bandage. The thin angry looking cut was red and puffy. Three small stitches kept it closed. Moran took Q’s wrist in his hand and twisted it so he could look carefully at it. Then he looked up into Q’s face. There was a shift in Moran’s expression. He wasn’t angry but he wasn’t pleased either. His face was darkening as his brow knitted. It was almost like remorse.

“You need to be seen by a doctor.” Moran said.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Q said. He tried to pull his hand back but Moran wouldn’t let go.

“You may need antibiotics.”

“No, it’s fine. Bond cleaned it thoroughly. If you want me to take something, I believe there may be something left over from the last time you were . . . you needed something.” Q glanced down.

Moran turned and looked at Bond. The killer’s grey eyes were dark as a storm.

“Is this your work?”

“He came to me when it happened. I used the first aid kit in your bathroom.” Bond said. Then it occurred to him that he had broken one of Moran’s rules. “I’m sorry but it was necessary to touch his arm to stop the bleeding and to stitch up the wound.”

Moran looked down at the wound again, then pulled the edge of Q’s sleeve down over the damaged skin. Anger still spilled into his mind but he could see the fear in Q’s eyes. Moran recognized what the cut was. He knew the two men were lying to him but he didn’t know why.

“Thank you for helping my husband.” Moran folded Q’s hand into his. He needed to get Q alone. He wanted to question the young man without interruptions. “We have to stay here for two days for restocking. If you would like to walk around the town for a few hours, I would do it now. Heidelberg is quite nice. I’ll inform you what happened later.”

“Alright,” Bond said as he kept his eyes fixed on Moran. “I’m a little claustrophobic being stuck here for so long.”

He glanced quickly at Q then back to Moran. Moran was attempting to sound calm but it was apparent he was faking it. Bond wondered if Moran was wanting him off the boat for some reason. Maybe to kill him where Q wouldn’t see. Maybe to kill Q. Bond started to say something but was cut off.

“Be back before dinner tonight. We have plans we need to make. Sutcliff, contact Moriston. I want an update.” Moran said then quickly turned and pulled Q along with him towards the staircase.

Q glanced over his shoulder at Bond before he was pulled up the stairs. Moran ignoring Q tugging against him. The two men disappeared down the hall and towards their private staterooms.

Moran grabbed the door handle and noticed the broken lock.

“Another accident?” Moran asked as he pulled Q into the room.

He glanced around the room as if checking for something. Everything seemed to be as he left it. Everything was in place. It was apparent the steward had already been in the rooms and cleaned them.

“Tell me the truth, Pup.” Moran said. He twisted Q to face him. His hands clutching at Q’s shoulders.

“I did.” Q returned Moran’s stare.

The younger man saw something in Sebastian’s face he hadn’t seen before. Fear. It twisted inside Q the realization that maybe . . . just maybe, Sebastian actually cared for the young man.

“That wasn’t a cut from a broken glass. It wasn’t an accident. That was a deliberate cut from a knife. It’s on your left wrist. You did it . . . you cut yourself . . . were you trying to harm yourself . . . kill yourself?”

Q remained perfectly still as he stared into Sebastian’s grey eyes. He saw a quiver to Sebastian’s lips and a small muscle near his eyes twitch.

“Yes.”

Moran slapped Q hard across his cheek. His glasses flew across the room. The young man fell to the floor. His hands covering his face as he pulled himself into a ball. He waited for the next blow to hit him.

“WHY!? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!? DON’T YOU KNOW WHAT IT WOULD DO TO ME!?” Moran shouted. He kicked the young man in the thigh. Q grunted at the pain but stayed balled up.

Moran knelt down and grabbed Q by the shoulders and shook the smaller man. His finger bruised Q’s skin.

“I LOVE YOU . . . I LOVE YOU . . . IT WOULD KILL ME!” He wrapped Q up in his arms and held him close.

The younger man was shaking. Tears were streaming from his green eyes.

“I can’t stand it anymore! He’ll come for me again and it will start all over again!”

“Who will come for you?”

“Moriarty!” Q shouted back.

“He is dead!”

“Bond talked like he was alive!” Q cried. “You said I would never have to see him again. You would keep me safe. That’s why I’m on this fucking boat! Never allowed off! So I will be safe from him!”

“Believe me!” Moran tried to lean in and kiss Q but the younger man pushed him back.

“How can I believe you? You took me from my family!”

Moran growled and slapped Q’s face again.

“I told you to forget about that . . . forget about what happened before you were mine!”

“How could I forget? You let him hurt me! You took me away from my family and you let him do things to me!” Q tried to pull himself from Moran’s arms. The bigger man fought him.

“I didn’t know . . . I thought he was just going to ransom you back to your family. When I found out, I came for you.” Moran rationalized. “I came and took you away.”

“Five years! Five years he treated me like an object. A slave. And you! . . . You keep calling me by that fucking evil name. That’s all I am to you . . . a pet. A toy.”

“NO! You are my husband! Mine! Not Moriarty’s or anyone else’s.”

Q pulled up into a tighter ball, hiding his face from his attacker. “Just let me die. I hate you.”

Moran raised his hand to slap Q again but halted. Slowly he lowered it and started to gently comb his fingers through the young man’s hair.

“I love you, darling.” Moran whispered. “I call you Pup because . . . because . . .” Moran realized the only reason he called the young man the hateful name was because that was what Moriarty had called him all those years. It never occurred to Moran that the young man might hate being called that. “What do you want me to call you?”

“My name. I want to hear my name.” Q cried while he hid his face under his arms.

“Sherriford, I’m sorry.”

It was the first time in over fifteen years that Sherriford Holmes had heard his name spoken. It stung, but suddenly the young man had quit crying.

“I remember the first time I ever saw you. Standing there in your school uniform and your little boater’s hat. You looked so innocent and pure. You melted my heart. I fell for you then, but . . . Moriarty told me you were going to be ransomed. He never told me what he had planned to do. I didn’t know.” Moran spoke quietly.

“He raped me.” Q’s voice was muffled. “He beat me and put a fucking collar on me . . . and raped me. Over and over again.”

“When I found out, I went insane. I murdered my commanding officer to get to you. I was coming to murder Moriarty but . . . he knew I was coming and stopped me. Gave me a choice. Die or join him for good. He promised you to me if I joined him. You would be my reward for being good. And that is what you are . . . a prize . . . a beautiful gift. Please, I can’t live without you in my life. I can’t think about you not being here for me.”

Moran wrapped his arms around Q’s shaking body. Q pulled his hands away from his face and looked up into Moran’s. The blond was surrounding the younger man.

“I’ve been good to you, haven’t I?” Moran asked.

Q was too afraid to answer. Moran kept petting Q’s hair.

“Moriarty is dead. I promise you. He shot himself two years ago. No one knows that but you and me. I disposed of his body before anyone else saw it. The only other person who saw Moriarty’s body was someone who was supposed to have died. I found out he is alive but I’m going to kill him. I let people think Moriarty is still alive because everyone feared him. You weren’t the only person he hurt, Ford.”

“He really is dead?” Q asked leaning into Moran’s body.

“Yes, I promise.” Moran picked Q up and pulled him into his lap. His arms moving around Q’s body to hold him.

“You are the one in charge? You are the boss?”

“Yes. And you must be here with me. You are mine now. There is no one left from your family. Moriarty killed your parents. Your brother committed suicide. Your other brother doesn’t care about you. You are all alone except for me.”

Q laid his head on Moran’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “You’ll take care of me?”

“Always.”

“Please, never call me Pup again.” Q whispered.

“Never.”

“I love you, Sebastian.” Q never blinked.

Moran sighed and held Q tighter. “I love you, too . . . Ford.”

~Q~

Bond spotted the tail within a fifteen minutes of leaving the boat. He wandered around the old city, finding a street café just off the main square to eat at. His eyes traveled around the square trying to identify anyone one else from the riverboat. He saw four men walking together who he knew were deckhands. They were obviously spending some much needed ‘R&R’ in the German town. But Bond also saw the skinny man who he recognized as one of the officers of the ship trying to covertly watch him from behind a newspaper. Bond smiled; the man was so pathetic at it he was almost comical.

Bond sipped his beer and ate his sandwich. He glanced to see a new waitress step out of the door of the café. Her coffee colored skin was smooth and flawless. Her dark hair in tight little curls. The woman leaned over Bond’s table and brushed the crumbs way with a damp towel.

“Afternoon, Moneypenny. What brings you to Heidelberg?” Bond smirked at Eve’s waitress uniform with the tiny frilly apron.

Eve glared at the man. “You have everyone in England ready to shoot you for desertion. Mallory thought it would be best if I came. Someone else might be successful at hitting you. The more important question is where have you been?”

She stood up straight and took out a notepad from her apron pocket and a pencil. She lightly tapped the pad pretending to be taking an order. Bond smiled and let his eyes blatantly travel up and down her body.

“Enjoying a lovely cruise up the Rhine on Moran’s private riverboat.” Bond said as he picked up the menu and looked at the deserts. He turned the menu towards Eve and pointed to one of the selections. Eve leaned forward to look at what he was pointing at.

“You know you are being followed?”

“Yes, the one by the church steps with the newspaper.” Bond said still looking at the menu.

“And the two over by the chocolate shop.”

Without shifting his body, Bond’s eyes moved to the Lindt Chocolatiers a few shops away from the café. Most the visitors to the shop where obviously tourists but there were two men, one tall and one short, who were not. The tall one was looking into the large window of the shop, but the short one was scanning the square. His hands folded comfortably behind his back and his feet shoulder’s width apart. _‘Parade’s rest.’_ The man had been a soldier at one time.

“Are you sure?” Bond asked.

“They followed you more discreetly from the dock. I saw them pick you up as soon as you walked into town.” Eve stood back up and wrote something down on her notepad. “Report?”

“Nothing yet. Moran was out of the country for the last three days. He had arranged for something big to happen but it didn’t. He returned angry.”

“Any idea what?”

“None.” Bond put the menu down. “There is another situation. I will need an extraction of an innocent bystander.”

“Who?”

“Moran’s husband.”

Eve raised a well sculptured eyebrow. “James?”

“It’s too difficult to explain but he is a victim of human trafficking. I want to get him back to his family.”

“Alright, I’ll inform Tanner. He will make the arrangements. And what about Moriarty?” Eve asked.

“Nothing to report.” Bond stood and pulled out his wallet. He removed several banknotes and handed them to Eve. The woman looked down at them and smiled.

“What do you expect me to do with these?”

“Pay my bill, darling.” Bond winked and then walked away from the café.

The young sailor from the boat quickly folded his newspaper and started to follow after Bond. The man was too close and Bond smirked when he saw him. It was harder for Bond to catch the other two men following him. They were more subtle and experienced. It didn’t surprise Bond that Moran would have two different teams on him but the fact he had never seen the other two before was concerning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments. I have just finished chapter seventeen. I'm adding on to the story to sew up some lose threads.


	11. Pardon my Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond wonders if he is being played by Q and Moran.

John slowly sipped his beer then sighed. “I prefer British beer to this.” He raised his glass and frowned. “Like chewing ice. Sets my teeth on edge.”

Sherlock didn’t look at John but hummed in agreement. “Be happy we’re not in America.”

“Ooo.” John nodded. John Watson was not a fan of American brand beers.

The two men sat at the small pub, Fuchs und Jagdhund, across the small park from the Empress moored to the quay. The third truck of the day was pulling away as the crew quickly loaded the supplies on board.

“That’s a lot of supplies. Do you think there are a lot of passengers?” John asked.

“No, just Moran and the crew. Maybe two or three others. But not more than ten people.”

John shook his head and took another sip. It had been a long day. They had arrived in Heidelberg the previous evening. It was late and the ship registered to one of Moran’s alias had not arrived yet. John and Sherlock got to the park early enough to watch the boat sail in and dock. They also watched as a blond man jumped on board as soon as it was tied off.

The only time they had left their surveillance of the Empress was when they had followed a different blond man into the town shortly after Moran had gotten on the boat. The man had wandered around the old city, and eaten lunch in one of various cafés in the square. John was tired now. The lack of any excitement was making him sleepy

The sun began to set and soon it would be difficult to see the boat from the pub. Also the pub was getting busy with university students coming in for a drink. The music had increased in volume steadily over the last two hours and the crowd was getting boisterous. Soon, Sherlock and John would have to change locations if they wanted to keep the boat under surveillance and still be able to talk to one another.

“Who was that man we followed today?” John asked.

“Don’t know but he communicated with his contact.” Sherlock’s eyes were fixed on the boat.

“His contact?”

“Yes, that waitress at the café wasn’t a waitress. She was working with him.” Sherlock said.

“If she was working with him, why was she working as a waitress?”

“Cover. He was obviously being followed by someone from the boat. And not very well I might say. He needed to relay information without being noticed.”

“Could he be the spy that Mycroft sent earlier?” John asked.

Sherlock pouted his lips and shrugged. “Possibly. Or a member of a rival gang who is trying to infiltrate Moran’s organization. Either way it doesn’t matter.”

“How could you say it doesn’t matter? We’re not exactly up to battling against rogue MI6 agents.”

Sherlock turned and smiled at John. “A thug is a thug, regardless if they are wearing torn jeans or a bespoke suit. And if there is one thing I’m good at, John, it is knowing how to handle the criminal class.”

John couldn’t help himself. He smiled at the dark haired man. He felt alive again. It had only been two days since they had found the bomb in the railway car. There had been nothing about it in the newspapers and no one who was not directly involved knew anything about it. None of the Members of Parliament knew they owed their lives to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

Part of John hated himself for forgiving Sherlock so quickly, and part of him was angry he wasted so much time before returning to Sherlock’s side. But this wasn’t like before. This wasn’t two crazy flatmates out chasing criminals. This was two men who admitted they had feelings for each other and were out chasing criminals. It was familiar and strange at the same time. John was a little baffled while being kept off his balance by the change in their dynamics.

They had only spent two nights together. One falling asleep fully clothed on Sherlock’s bed and last night sleeping on a train. The two them hadn’t even had a chance yet to establish boundaries. John smiled at that. Like there would be boundaries where Sherlock was involved. But still John didn’t know exactly what they were to each other.

Friends-always. (Regardless of how angry Sherlock made him.) Lovers-hopefully. Partners-who knew. John sighed and took another sip of his cold beer.

“So what is the plan?” John asked conspiratorially.

“We need to learn if Moriarty is still alive.”

“I thought you said you saw him shoot himself?” John said.

“Yes, and you saw me jump off a four story building. Obviously, a first-hand witness isn’t the best method for determining is someone is actually dead or faking it.”

John set the beer glass down rather hard. The beer sloshed out and onto the table. Sherlock glanced from the spilt beer up into John’s hard stare.

“Sorry . . . too soon?” Sherlock asked.

“I think fifty years from now will be too soon, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked sheepishly away from John and back out at the Empress.

“We will still need to get on board . . . or question someone who might know when they come off the boat.

John’s eyes followed Sherlock’s over to the riverboat. On the top deck of the boat, the blond man from the café, stepped out. He was walking around the roof of the boat looking down at the water on the far side.

“What do you think he is doing?” John asked.

“Maybe looking for a way to escape.”

~Q~

The sun had set and it was dark when Bond entered the dining room on the ship. Q was sitting in his seat and Moran was standing behind. Moran’s hands resting on either side of the back of Q’s chair. He was leaning over the chair and whispering into Q’s ear. Q glanced over at Bond but didn’t make any indication he saw the man. He kept his expression neutral as he returned his attention back to the plate in front of him.

Moran looked up and frowned when he saw Bond. The grey eyes narrowed and Moran’s face darkened. The hair on the back of Bond’s neck stood up. He wasn’t armed but his hand flexed as if going for a weapon. He stilled it regretting he didn’t have one. Bond’s eyes landed on the sharp knives on the table and he wondered if they would be balanced enough to throw.

“Good, you’re here.” Moran said as he stepped away from Q and sat down at the table. “We can eat now.”

Bond nodded and stepped to the table and sat down. Moran sat in the chair nearest Q and took the young man’s hand in his. Q glanced at their joined hands then up at Bond. There was something there in his eyes. Some secret the young man was trying to relay but Bond couldn’t read it.

“I’m sorry if I’m late. You shouldn’t have waited.” Bond said as he unfolded his napkin. The stiff fabric snapped as he shook it out.

“Pup . . .”

Q took a quick sudden intake of air. Moran looked up at the young man and saw the disappointment in the man’s eyes.

“Ford told me we should wait. It would be . . . polite.”

Bond caught the change in names. He wondered what it meant for the relationship between the two men.

“Ford?” Bond asked.

“Short for Sherriford.” Q said.

Liam, the steward, came in with a tureen. He carefully ladled the soup out to the three men. Bond glanced down at the thick, rich, borsch. The vivid red color was off putting. He put a dollop of sour cream in the bowl and slowly stirred it in.

Bond glanced over a Q but the young man didn’t look up to acknowledge either of the two men eating with him. Moran kept glancing between Q and the bowl of soup the young man was eating. Tension was growing rapidly in the room and Bond was not sure why.

“This is one of my husband’s favorite soups.” Moran said. His head as he ducked down his head and kept eating. He slurped the red broth off the silver spoon.

“I have a very good friend who is Russian. It’s one of the few things he can cook that I find eatable.” Bond said trying to fill the void in the conversation.

Q hummed and took a spoonful of the beet soup. It was hot and creamy, full of vegetables and meat. The three men ate for several minutes without speaking. Bond’s eyes shifting covertly between the other two men. Q’s wrist was still bandaged but Bond could see it wasn’t the one he had put on. Moran kept glancing at Q, as if he was waiting for something. Q’s concentration seemed to be on the soup.

The anxiety was ruining Bond’s appetite. The soup was delicious but Bond could only eat a few spoonfuls. He set his spoon down and carefully wiped his mouth. A frightful red stain marked the white napkin.

Moran finally growled and threw his spoon down. It bounced on the table. Crashing in to the china and clicking against his water glass.

“Damn it!” He snapped. “Alright!”

Moran glared at Q and for a moment Bond worried about the young man’s safety.

“Bond, my husband insists I apologize to you.” Moran said turning to other man. “I shouldn’t have hit you.”

Moran paused expecting a response but none came. Bond remained silent. He wasn’t sure what was going on. Moran continued.

“Ford told me you saved his life. He told me what happened.”

“He did?” Bond glanced over at Q. The young man was very still. His hands were folded in his lap and his shoulders slumped downward. For some reason, Bond believed Q hadn’t told Moran everything. “I believe he exaggerated.”

“Ford had reasons to fear Moriarty. I’ve convinced him those reason no longer exist. Ford has promised me he won’t do anything stupid like that again.”

Bond nodded. ‘ _Moran knows it was a suicide attempt but does he know about the razor or what happened afterwards.’_ Bond wondered.

“He was very upset.” Bond said as a response to Moran. “I also apologize if I said anything to upset . . . Ford. I’m sure you’ve relieved his fears.”

Moran reached over and slipped his hand behind Q’s neck and pulled him closer. He twisted Q’s head so the young man was forced to look into Moran’s face.

“He knows I will always be here for him. He needn’t fear again.” Moran said and he pulled Q towards him for a forceful kiss.

Bond watched as Q went pliant. Almost boneless. As if he was forcing himself to not react in any manner. A small frown came to Bond’s lips. He preferred partners who were involved and proactive. This complete relinquishment of control was almost abusive. Once again, Bond wondered what kind of sadistic treatment Q had endured at the hands of Moriarty and Moran.

Bond felt sick.

“If you will excuse me, I think I’m going to turn in early.” Bond said as he stood up.

Moran pulled back from kissing Q and glanced up at the man. Bond could see how dark Moran’s eyes were. His lips were shiny from spit and his hand was still possessively wrapped around Q’s neck. Bond quickly glanced at Q. The young man was pale. His eyes slightly closed and looking down. His hands still folded in his lap. Almost as if they were tied there.

Bond’s hand flexed instinctively. He wanted to punch that leer off Moran’s face.

“Good evening.” Bond said.

Q finally glanced up at him. There was apprehension in Q’s eyes. Bond forced himself to remain still and not advance on the young man.

“Yeah, good night.” Moran growled.

He yanked on Q’s neck again and pulled the young man over for another kiss. Bond gritted his teeth and left the dining room. By the time he reached his cabin, he was furious. He wanted his gun back. He wanted to strangle Moran with his bare hands. Bond suddenly realized he had become emotionally involved with the young man. They had barely even spoken to one another, but Bond was sure he would kill for him. It was strange and different, but everything about Q was different.

~Q~

The knock on the cabin door came after midnight. Bond hesitated before answering the door. Q was standing there in a white terrycloth robe. His hair was mused up and bruises marred his neck.

“Sebastian is waiting for me in sauna. I have only a few minutes.”

Bond grabbed Q by the upper arm and pulled him into his cabin. He glanced up and down the hallway to make sure no one saw the young man enter then quickly closed the door. Bond’s eyes moved quickly over Q assessing the damage Moran had caused.

“Are you alright?” Bond asked.

“Were you telling me the truth?” Q ignored Bond’s inquiry.

“About what?” Bond raised an eyebrow.

“Are you willing to take me with you? Will you take me some place where he will never find me?”

“Yes.”

“Tonight?”

For a brief moment, Bond wondered again if this was a trap. “If you want.”

Q stared at Bond for a few seconds. “I want you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

Bond didn’t move. He kept his expression neutral and stoic. Meanwhile, his pulse rate began to rise. Q seemed to be confused by Bond’s apparent indifference.

“Not once in my adult life have I been kissed because I want it. No one has ever kissed me because I asked them to.”

Bond realized it was Q’s attempt to start taking control again. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, Bond brought his hand up and cup Q’s cheek. Bond slowly moved forward, but Q didn’t wait. He pushed forward. Crashing into James’ face. Smashing his lips into James’s. Q’s teeth trying to bite at James’ lips. It was harsh and awkward. Q shoved James back into the door of the cupboard. James grunted as his back hit the wood. He quickly put both hands on Q’s cheeks then gently but firmly, pushed the young man back.

He stared into Q’s surprised and confused face. The younger man’s eyes blinking rapidly. Slowly, James pulled Q’s face closer. This time, he took command of the kiss. Light, chase brushes at the corner of the younger man’s mouth. A gently push of his mouth to Q’s plush lips. Then he released his hold on Q’s face and let the young man return the kiss. Q mirrored James’ movement. The softness and light press of tender skin to skin. The hesitant swipe of a tongue over closed lips.

Q took a step closer slipping his hands around the James’ shoulders. Pulling the older man into his lithe body. James let Q’s hands roam over his back. The long thin fingers tracing over the muscles as Q’s tongue traced the seam of his mouth. James opened his mouth and Q’s tongue slipped in. The younger man hummed and pushed his body into Bond’s.

The kiss ended. Q pulled back. His face flushed and his eyes dark. Lust bled into James’ body and he could feel himself get hard in his trousers. He leaned forward for another kiss, but Q pulled back. Stepping away from Bond.

“Moriarty is dead. Moran is in control. I know everything about his organization and how you can take it over. Get me out and I will give you the information.”

Q took another step back. Slipping out of James’ reach before the man realized it.

“Everything?” James asked giving his head a quick shake.

“Yes, I told you he had me do computer work for him. I know everything you will need to bring him down.”

“We will leave before sunrise. Be ready.” Bond said as he reached out for Q.

Q avoid Bond’s hand. He stepped towards the door and opened it. He glanced down the hallway before rushing from the room and disappearing up the steps to the other deck. Bond was left leaning against his cupboard door, wondering if he had just been played.


	12. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q escapes the Empress but finds more things for flee once off the boat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. RL got in the way of my fun. I will try and make it up to you. 
> 
> Q has a difficult time in this chapter. It is not necessary Stockholm Syndrome, it's more like transference. It occurs in people who have been held hostage for a long time. He is coping by putting blame elsewhere.

The explosion was half an hour before sunrise. The chef had just gone into the galley to start his morning routines for fixing breakfast. Liam was setting out the coffee service. The chef had pressed the button to ignite the pilot light on the oven. He didn’t notice the hole in the propane line. He wasn’t aware of the layer of highly flammable gas lying on the floor. With the spark from the pilot, the galley exploded. The side of the boat blew out and debris was cast over a hundred feet from the boat. Liam and chef were instantly killed.

The fire alarms sounded and the crew was scrambling. Most were still in their bunks. They ran to the upper deck while still pulling on their clothing. The captain rushed up to the middle deck still in his pajamas. The fire compression system was working and flame suppressant foam was spraying across the remains of the galley and the crew’s mess.

Sutcliff came out of his cabin on the middle deck. He saw the crew fighting the remnants of the fire. The walls of the hallway were scorched. He could smell the smoke and the scent of burnt flesh. Sutcliff looked away from the destruction and towards Bond’s cabin’s door. It was closed. He stepped closer and listened. He couldn’t hear anything over the clatter of the fire alarms and the shouts of the crew. He didn’t knocked but reached for the door knob. It turned easily in his hand. He opened the door and stepped into Bond’s cabin. The bed was still made. The bathroom was empty. Bond was not there. Sutcliff dashed out of the room but was blocked by the crew and unable to notify Moran that Bond was missing.

Moran came out of his cabin. He glanced up and down the hallway as smoke began to filter up into the upper deck. He listened to the shouts of the crew and fire alarm. Q came up behind him. The young man was already pulling on a coat over his pajamas.

“Do we need to get off the boat?” Q asked.

“No . . . not yet. Stay here.” Moran said as he marched down the hall towards the stairs and the damaged deck.

Q covered his nose and mouth with his hands. The smoke was burning his eyes and making them water. He didn’t even notice when the door to the gym opened and Bond stepped out. Q jumped back until he recognized the man. Bond was already dressed, and ready to leave.

“Do you need anything?” Bond asked.

“No.” Q said barely able to even say that small word.

Bond grabbed Q’s hand and pulled him back into the gym. There was a small service ladder on the outside of the boat. It was beside the large window looking out the back of the Empress. Bond broke the glass and started down it. Q quickly followed. They reached the small deck with a service door leading down to the crew quarters. Heavy ropes attached to this small deck tied the back of the Empress to the stone quay. The distance from the deck to the dock was only five feet. Bond opened the gate in the railing and backed up slightly. He took two running steps and leaped out over the water and onto the paving stones.

“I can’t . . .” Q stared at the water.

“You have to! Back up and run at it!” James whispered harshly.

Bond glanced up and saw the crew’s attention was still on the explosion and fire, but soon their absence would be noticed. Q hesitated then stepped back as far as he could. He sprinted forward and leapt. Bond had his arms open to catch the young man, but Q jumped farther than Bond was expecting and the two men crashed together. Bond stayed on his feet as he caught Q. Wrapping his arms around the young man to keep him upright.

Together they ran across the Neckarstraden and into the city.

~Q~

Moran marched back up into the cabin he shared with Q. He expected to find Q waiting for him, huddled in a chair frightened. A quick glance around the room proved he was wrong. Moran stepped out into the hall and shouted.

“PUP, WHERE ARE YOU!?”

There was no answer. He started opening doors on the upper deck and looking into the various rooms. The gym was empty as well as the sauna. He had missed the broken window. The captain’s cabin was empty, as were the other smaller rooms. Moran was just before going to the top deck when Sutcliff came running up the stairs to him.

“Sir . . . Bond is gone. His cabin is empty and it doesn’t look like he spent the night there.” The man said.

Moran growled and pushed Sutcliff back down the stairs.

“FIND MY HUSBAND AND FIND BOND! IF THEY ARE TOGETHER, BRING BACK BOND TO ME ALIVE!”

Then Sutcliff sneered as he picked himself up off the marble floor. The fire was out and the two dead bodies were being gently carried out of the demolished galley. Sutcliff shouted at the crew to set the bodies down and come with him. Several of the sailors hesitated and glanced back and forth between themselves. Sutcliff pulled a gun out his shoulder holster and shot it in the air. The sailors not holding the dead men pushed forward and listened to Sutcliff’s orders.

Moran watched as his crew started to search the boat. He reached for the gun that was snug at the back of his belt. The weight of the weapon felt reassuring in his hands. He glanced around and then went down the one flight of stairs to exit. The gangway had been pulled back in the night. He didn’t wait for it to be slid back into place. He jumped across the small gap between the ship and dock. Glancing up and down the empty street, Moran took off into the still sleeping city.

~Q~

The sun was above the mountains to the east when James and Q reached the Market Plaza with the old church. The sunlight began warming the cobble stone streets. The only a few cafés were open, expecting their early morning crowds before work. The stores and tourist shops were still padlocked and shuttered. James pulled Q close and made the younger man slow his walking down.

“Don’t draw attention to yourself.” James whispered softly while not looking at Q.

“I’m wearing pajamas under this coat. Don’t you think that will draw attention?”

“Not if you walk calmly like it was perfectly normal for you wear stripped cotton trousers.” Bond’s hand slipped lower to rest on Q’s opposite hip.

The younger man could feel the warmth from James’ body. Q blinked his large hazel eyes and then ducked his head down. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his large wool coat. Bond walked more relaxed, letting his eyes swing back and forth through the gathering crowds of morning customers to the coffee shops. That’s when he spotted the man with the dark hair from the day before. He never saw the man’s face, but Bond recognized the long black coat and the waves of dark curls. It was the same man who was standing in front of the Lindt store with the shorter blond man. Bond started to scan the crowd more carefully, looking for the soldier.

Bond and Q walked further into town. The address of the safe house was near the university. He wanted to get Q there as quickly as possible but he didn’t want the man following them to discover it. Bond’s senses were on heightened alert. As they approached the university, the streets swelled with students on their way to morning classes. The two men moved into the crowds and quickly disappeared. Glancing around, Bond couldn’t see the man with the coat or his shorter friend. Bond turned down a narrow street and away from the crowds. He wrapped his hand around Q’s elbow and quickened their pace.

“What’s wrong?” Q asked.

“Something feels off.” Bond said.

Q glanced around. “Moran?”

“No.” The man in the black coat stepped out from an alley way and right in front of them. Bond and Q stumbled for a moment as they were blocked by the dark haired man with the self-satisfied expression on his face.

Bond reached for his weapon only to remember Moran had taken it away from him the week before. He pushed Q behind himself and stepped forward ready to attack the dark haired man.

“Don’t . . .” Bond heard the soft voice from his side.

There is the shadows was the shorter man with a Sig Sauer aimed carefully at Bond’s head. The shorter man was intelligent enough to stand far enough back that Bond couldn’t attack before he was shot. Bond slowly raised his hands in surrender.

“Who are you?” Bond asked.

“Sherlock Holmes . . .” The dark haired man said.

Q gasped as he grabbed James’ shoulder. He stepped around and stared at Sherlock.

“No . . . you are dead. Sherlock is dead!” Q uttered.

Sherlock smiled smugly. “Not quite.”

“He told me you were dead!” Q said louder.

Q moved around James but the blond stepped forward and wrapped his arm over Q’s shoulder. The younger man shrugged it off and stepped closer to Sherlock. His long fingers curled into fists. The taller man was surprised by Q’s reactions and seemed confused for a moment. John was worried and switched the sights of his gun from Bond to the younger man.

“He told me you were dead. You committed suicide and Mummy and Daddy died in an auto-accident. Only Mycroft was left!” Q shouted. He looked like he was going to attack Sherlock.

James stepped forward and pulled the excited younger man back. Wrapping his arms around him and holding Q back.

“Who are you . . .” Sherlock glared at the smaller man. Then something seemed to come to Sherlock and he gasped. Stumbling backwards. “NO!”

“Sherlock?” John asked, concerned as his partner paled.

“You can’t be!” Sherlock yelled. “HE’S DEAD! HE HAS TO BE DEAD!”

“WHO?!” John asked as his attention wavered between the three men.

“My brother.” Sherlock said.

“Sherrinford?” Bond asked.

“Yes,” Q answered.

Q slapped Sherlock’s face hard. The older brother didn’t respond to the blow. James pulled Q back again and John stepped between the two men.

“What the hell is going on?” John asked waiting to stop the younger Holmes before he could attack again.

“My brother . . .” Sherlock started then shook his head. His dark curls shaking as he fought to understand what was happening. “We believed you were dead. We refused to believe you ran away.”

“I didn’t run away!” Q growled. “I was taken. Did you even look? Did you care?”

“I tried . . . we tried . . .” Sherlock said.

Bond glanced around. Students were beginning to wander down the street now and some noticed the four men. John lowered the gun but kept it at the ready.

“It is time for us to take this some place private. I will trust that you know who this young man is and that you are his family. That will save me a great deal of difficulty. I was wanting to return him to his family. Now, there is someone after him who is very dangerous and we can’t be found by him. Let’s go.”

Bond took Q by the upper arm and started to push past Sherlock and John.

“I refuse to go to with him.” Q said pulling his arm free.

“Q?” James reached for Q but the younger man stepped back out of reach. He turned to Sherlock.

“Are our parents alive?” Q asked with a certain amount of distain in his voice.

“Yes.” Sherlock sounded defeated. The taller man seemed dazed and confused. It worried John.

“Was any of it the truth?” Q asked.

James stepped closer to the young man. “Remember who told you all this. Remember what he did to you . . . who he was. You couldn’t trust him.”

“But Sebastian took me away from Moriarty. He stopped Moriarty from hurting me. He didn’t have to lie to me. Why would he?”

“Moriarty!?” Sherlock lifted his head. “You were with Moriarty?”

James ignored the question and pulled Q up the street and towards the safe house. John kept his attention fixed on Sherlock.

“Sherlock? Should we follow?” John asked. Not waiting for an answer, John slipped his gun into the holster at the small of his back and flipped his jumper over the grip to hide it. He took Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it. He wasn’t sure where he was going but he decided to follow Bond and Q.

One block further up the hill, John said. “The name is John Watson. This is Sherlock Holmes if you didn’t catch it.”

“Bond, James Bond. I believe this is Sherrinford Holmes.” James nodded towards Q, who was silently fuming.

“You called him Q?” John asked.

“Yes, a nickname.” Bond said. “I didn’t like what he was called and he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone his real name.”

“Why not?” Sherlock asked, finally speaking.

James glanced sideways at the man wondering how much he should tell the older brother. “Your brother was kidnaped by human traffickers. He was . . . abused.”

“Shut up!” Q growled. “He doesn’t care! Don’t tell him anything!”

John and James waited for Sherlock to argue with Q but the man said nothing. James stopped and looked at Q.

“Tell, me. Do I trust them or not? I need to know. It’s for your safety.”

Before Q could answer, Sherlock stepped forward and hesitantly raised his hand to the younger man’s face.

“I looked for you. We all did. We were told you ran away but we didn’t believe it. Was it Moriarty who took you?” Sherlock asked. There was a hollowness to his words that was frightening.

Q stared at him for a moment then seemed to deflate. His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head.

“Moran took me from school. He said there had been a car accident. Mummy and Daddy were injured. I know it was stupid. I know I should have seen it was a trick. I was just so scared for them . . . I went with him. It wasn’t until he handed me over to another person did I know I had been kidnapped.”

Bond could feel Q start to shake. He stepped closer and wrapped his arm around Q’s thin body.

“Moriarty?” Sherlock asked.

“No, not at first. I was kept at a house in the country. Locked in a bedroom. There was a woman there. She had long dark hair and green eyes. She was good to me and I wasn’t frightened any more. A month later, Jim came and . . . he said I looked like you. He told me he wanted you instead but you had already left for university and he couldn’t get you. It would draw to much attention. No one would miss me.” Q refused to look up.

“Did he . . . harm you?”

“I was with him for five years. I quit caring. I wanted to die . . . When Moran came back and saw what was going on, he asked if Moriarty would give me to him. I thought Moran was going to kill me . . . but he was . . . different. He took care of me. Let me heal. I think he felt guilty for taking me in the first place.”

James wrapped his hand over Q’s cheek and pulled the boy’s face to his shoulder. Q wrapped his arms around James’ waist as he buried his face in the warm of James’ neck. Sherlock watched his brother for a moment, then turned and walked away. John hesitated for a moment, then took after Sherlock. The detective’s long legs having already walked a block away from Q and James by the time John caught up to him.

“Sherlock, where are you going?” John asked as he rushed to keep up with Sherlock.

“I’m going to kill Moran.”


	13. Taking the First Steps.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q finally have a talk.

The safe house was actually a flat in a nondescript building just a few blocks from the university. Nothing seemed odd about the two men sharing the flat together. Their neighbors didn’t even notice them as they unlocked the door. Bond kept checking the street below the windows. Watching the students come and go throughout the day. It seemed like a bad place for a safe house, but it was actually very good. If anyone remained still for very long watching the building, numerous people would notice and inform the authorities. And as long as Bond and Q remained behind closed doors and windows, no one noticed they weren’t students and didn’t belong.

MI6 had provided backup phones and weapons for its agent at the safe house. Bond was relieved to have a gun secured in his shoulder holster once again. He had felt naked without it for the past few weeks. He had already contacted Tanner and given the information about Q and Moran. Tanner seemed overly interested in the young man. Ignoring most of what Bond had relayed about Moran. He wanted Bond to send him a photo of the young man but Q refused. Tanner wanted any information Bond could give him about the young man, but Bond felt uncomfortable talking about Q while the young man was standing there, staring at him.

After the phone conversation with MI6, Q had collapsed on the couch. He fell asleep almost instantly as Bond rechecked the security of the flat. Bond could only imagine the emotional turmoil the young man must have undergone. He wondered how it felt for Q to finally be back on land after being kept on that boat for so long. Bond knew it would take years of therapy before Q would be able to cope with what had happened to him.

Bond moved closer and sat down in the chair next to the couch. He watched as the young man slept. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The secretive movements of his eyes beneath his lids. Bond couldn’t help himself but admire the beauty of the young man. The young man was alluring and erotic. James wanted to kiss those plumb lips again and hold that lithe body against his. He felt guilty for his desires, remembering the years of abuse Q had suffered. He hated that he was so attracted to such a fragile and damaged young man.

Q shifted on the couch, rolling onto his side, he opened his eyes and saw James looking at him. Q didn’t react to being stared at. He wasn’t frightened or even annoyed. There was something behind Q’s green eyes. Something deep and smoldering that made James’ mouth water.

“How do you feel?” James asked.

“Feel?”

“So much has happened today. You escaped the boat and you found your dead brother was alive. Your whole family is alive and misses you. They were looking for you. It must feel good to know that.”

“I feel . . . tired.” Q said as he slowly sat up. He folded his long legs underneath himself.

“Tired?”

“Yes . . . I had to keep so much in, hidden away, when I was with Sebastian. For years I’ve been lying.” Q said as he stared at James.

“And what about your brother? How does it feel to know he is alive?” James asked.

“I can’t seem to take in the information. It feels like at any moment Sebastian will come in and tell me it was some kind of joke they pulled on me. A test and I failed it.”

James wanted wrap his arms around the young man. To comfort Q, but knew he couldn’t. It would seem like he was no better than Moran. He fought to stay in the chair and not reach over to the man.

“You didn’t fail, Q. You survived. You survived Moriarty and Moran. And you will survive going back to your family.”

“I don’t know . . . I don’t know if I want to . . .”

“To go back?” James asked concern.

“No, survive.”

“Q?” James slipped from the chair and moved to kneel front of the young man. “You can’t be thinking of harming yourself again? Please, you are too special to let yourself even consider such a thing.”

Q smiled sadly. “Surviving means just getting by. Just living . . . I want to . . . overcome. I want to conquer.”

The words were electric. James couldn’t stop himself. He pushed up on his knees and into Q’s space. His hand reached around the young man’s neck and held his head in place as James’ lips pressed fervently into Q’s. Warm and passionate yet still chaste. Q’s hands hesitated, then slipped over James’ shoulders and pulled the older man closer. Q unfolded his legs and wrapped them carefully around James’ body. Holding the man close to him, Q tried to intensify the kiss. Deepening it.

The two kissed and ran their hands over each other’s bodies. Q tipped his head back and his chin up so James could kiss down his long pale neck. James nipped at his collar bone and Q moaned deeply. His own hands traveled over James’ back and down over the curve of his bottom. Q gently squeezed the flesh there and pulled James closer. Their groins meeting and grinding together.

Then James’ mind caught up to his libido and he pulled back. He took several deep breaths forcing himself to take control. He glanced back up into Q’s confused expression. The young man’s eyes were dark and his pale skin was flushed pink. James’ hand slipped forward to cup Q’s cheek as his thumb dragged softly across the young man’s eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” James whispered.

Q’s eyes shifted rapidly over the other man’s face as he pouted. “Why?”

“It’s not what you wanted.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Q, you can’t mean that. You don’t know what you want.” James said. He tried to lean away but the younger man’s legs held him close.

“I am thirty years old. I’m sure I know what I want.”

“Alright, it’s not what you need.” James said as he roughly pulled out of Q’s grasp. He stood up and stepped back.

“Need? Seriously?” Q looked up at him incredulously.

“Q . . .”

“For half my life, I’ve been treated like I wasn’t even human. I couldn’t make up my own mind. I couldn’t make decisions for myself. Don’t you start treating me the same way!”

Q stood up and pushed into James’ space. He wrapped his arms around the blond and pulled him close.

“James . . . do you want me? Because I want you.” Q said plainly.

James could feel his treacherous cock jerk in his trousers. “You’ve been conditioned to think . . .”

“James, I’ve been conditioned to please. Let others decide. Not to complain or want anything for myself. I learned how to shut down and ignore what was happening. I don’t want that now. I want to choose.”

Q leaned forward and kissed James’ mouth. His hands slipped over the man’s body, pulling Bond closer. James could feel the bulge in Q’s trousers and his inner alpha roared with vanity. James’ hand slipped up and he dragged his fingers through Q’s curls. Opening his mouth, he allowed Q to lick into his. The warm slide of the younger man’s tongue against his. James could feel his body ramping up and wanting. A warm flush came over him as his stomach tightened listening to Q moan.

Then a flash of Moran’s face came to Bond.

It was like cold water being splashed on him.

James pulled back as he ducked his face away. Q groaned slightly but didn’t stop kissing the man’s face. James took a step back, practically pushing Q away.

“What? . . . What did I do wrong?” Q asked confused.

“You did nothing wrong.” James kept his head down and his eyes focused on anything other than the young man.

Q watched James for a few moments then asked. “Are you straight? Or do you find me repulsive?”

James gave a weak laugh and smiled sadly. “I’m definitely bi-sexual. And repulsive is not a word I would ever use to describe you.”

Q watched James as the older man paced around the room.

“Then what is it? My brothers?” Q asked.

“No, it’s . . .” James struggled. He didn’t want Q’s experiences to define him but he still didn’t want to take advantage of an emotional and physically abused man. “It’s what happened to you. I don’t want you to think of me as one of those men. The ones who hurt you.”

Q sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Do you want me to heal from my experiences?” Q asked calmly.

“Yes, of course.”

“Then this is where it starts. I choose. I decide who and how. I make decisions for myself. And I choose you. Here and now.”

~Q~

John followed Sherlock down the street and back towards the river. Panic was rising fast inside John the closer they got to the dock and Moran.

“Sherlock, where are you going?” John finally grabbed Sherlock’s shoulder and pulled the man back to look at him. “You aren’t going after Moran alone!”

“John, he took so much . . . he destroyed everything.” Sherlock sound like a lost child.

“Tell me what is going on. Tell me what happened. That man . . . Q? Is he your brother?” John tried to hold on to Sherlock but the taller man pulled from his grip and continued to walk down the street.

“My brother is dead.”

“Sherlock!”

The dark haired man stopped. He bowed his face, hiding it in his palms. He shook violently then stood up straight and stared at John.

“It was fifteen years ago. Sherriford was my younger brother. I was nineteen and he was fifteen. We were close despite the ages. We did everything together. Played, explored, tormented Mycroft, even gave little recitals, he on the piano and I on my violin. Sherrinford was special. Mycroft could fake having emotions and I never cared about them but Sherrinford . . . he had everything. He was perfect. He had brilliance and emotions . . . Empathy. He was a combination of our parents. Our mother’s intelligence and our father’s heart. He was . . . the very best of us.” Sherlock stopped. He glanced around, blinking back tears that fought to come out. “Our mother loved him dearly. We all did.”

Sherlock turned and looked at John. The blond could see the pain in Sherlock’s silver blue eyes.

“What happened, Sherlock?”

“He was angry. He was being sent off to school. I was already at university. Mycroft was working in London. I had only been at Cambridge when I received a call from my father. Sherrinford was missing.” Sherlock started to shake. “His headmaster called my parents and told them he had disappeared. Left during class. No one knew he was missing until bed check that night. The police investigated and decided he had run away . . . because he was angry with me. He wanted me to stay home with him. I believed them.”

“Sherlock, you know that wasn’t true.” John said as he reached up and cupped Sherlock’s face.

“At first, then when he didn’t come back, we insisted he was kidnapped, but they didn’t believe us. There was no ransom note. No demands were made.” Sherlock grabbed John’s wrist and pulled his hand down from his face. Sherlock lifted his chin and tightened his expression. “It became too much for my father. He had a nervous breakdown. My mother had to spend all of her time taking care of him. Mycroft was no help what so ever. He had limited resources at the time and couldn’t use the CCTV to track Sherrinford. His superiors would not give him permission. I was left alone to look for my brother. But . . .” Sherlock swallowed hard. “But there weren’t any clues. My brother disappeared completely. The only logical conclusion was he was . . .”

John felt an emotional punch to his stomach. “You thought he was dead.”

“Mycroft and I both did. He relayed our conclusions to our parents. My father relapsed. Mycroft left for his job and I . . . I . . . I decide to try _experimentation_.”

John studied Sherlock’s face. The man tried to look stoic but John could see the cracks showing. The pain and regret were evident. The term ‘ _experimentation_ ’ sounded like a code word. Something so awful that Sherlock couldn’t actually say the words.

“That’s when you started using drugs, wasn’t it?” John was proud his voice didn’t break.

“Yes.” Sherlock said. He hesitated waiting for John to say something else but when the doctor remained silent Sherlock continued. “I started with cocaine believing it would help me think and find Sherrinford. When it didn’t work, I moved on morphine. I finally ended up on heroin. Heroin was my first overdose. Then, there were other overdoses from combinations of drugs. That is when Mycroft found me. I’m not even sure where I was when he found me, but when I woke up I was in hospital. Mycroft insisted that we keep the information about my drug use from our parents. My father was not well enough to be told and my mother was already dealing with too much grief.”

John wanted to wrap his arms around the man and hold him tight, but Sherlock was so stiff, he was afraid he would break him.

“Sherlock . . . I’m sorry that happened to you.” John whispered.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do this to my family. It was Moriarty and Moran. Moriarty may be dead and can’t pay for what he did but I will make sure Moran does.” Sherlock took off quickly. Marching down the street towards the docks.

“Sherlock! No . . . that’s not going to help!”

“John, please understand that this is a debt owed . . . it will be paid!”

John was chasing after Sherlock and did not noticed the four men surround them. A tall blond with grey eyes stepped in front of Sherlock and blocked his progress. Sherlock halted and stared at the man, noticing the scar across his brow.

Two men grabbed John by the elbows and pulled him back. He cursed and tried to go for his gun but the two men quickly disarmed him.

“Colonel Sebastian Moran.” Sherlock said as he cocked his head back.

“Sherlock Holmes . . . or are you going by the name Lazarus now?” Moran asked looking the tall detective up and down. “Where is your brother?”

“Mycroft? London I suspect.”

“No, you know exactly who I’m asking about. Where is Sherrinford?” Moran growled.

“Dead, last I knew.” Sherlock said remarkably calmly.

Moran slapped Sherlock hard across the face. Sherlock stumbled backwards but stayed on his feet. He straightened back up and stared at Moran. John pulled on the two men who were holding him, but he couldn’t free himself.

“You’re going to tell me where my husband is before I kill you. Your decision . . . do I make it a painless death or a slow, drawn out, agonizing one.” Moran gritted his teeth.

Sherlock didn’t even respond to the threat. He glanced briefly at John before he lunged at Moran. The soldier anticipated the attack and jabbed his fist out. Sherlock’s jaw snapped back to the side as he stumbled backwards. Sherlock’s body collapsed to the pavement.

Moran stepped over Sherlock’s body and walked over to John.

“Tell Pup I expect him back on board before sunset tonight. If I don’t see him, I will come after him and he will be punished for not obeying me. Do you understand?”

John glared at the man. “I don’t know where Sherrinford Holmes is.”

“Well, you better find him or Sherlock will die slowly and painfully.”

John felt the sting when the butt of a gun hitting his head. He saw stars before blackness enfolded around him.


	14. Brother, Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft meets Q

The bells from the medieval church rang out the hour. There was the soft background noise of music, conversations and laughter in the street below. Sunlight shone in through the windows and reflected off the pale walls, warming the room and adding a glow to the still air. There was something decadent about have sex in afternoon. James Bond was laying on the bed while Q lay on top of him. Their naked bodies touching shoulder to hip to knee. Their skin slid together sensually as they kissed. Q’s hands were resting on either side of James’ face and James’ hand was lightly placed on Q’s hip.

James was letting Q set the pace. The young man taking his time exploring the blonde’s body. First with his hands then with his mouth. Q licked and kissed the skin across James’ chest. Pausing at the scars, he glanced up into James’ face for a moment before returning to mouth at them and kiss them.

“You’ve suffered too.” Q whispered into the skin.

“Not like you.”

“But you’ve been hurt. These look like cigarette burns.” Q kissed the small round burns on the inside of James’ upper arm.

“Yes, but the one who made them is dead now. I killed him myself.” He didn’t know why he said that, but it seemed to make Q happy to hear it. The younger man smiled and kissed them again. James had seen similar scars at the small of Q’s back.

Q touched and stroked across James’ skin. When nudged by the dark haired man, James rolled over onto his stomach and let Q explore his back and his legs. Q’s long fingers traced down James’ spine and over the swell of his backside. The skin goose-pimpled with Q’s cool fingertips then warmed with his breath. Q placed kisses to the hollows of James’ knees and lightly outlined his ankle bones with his tongue.

James’ erection was trapped under his body as Q spent his time exploring. It was hard and wanting. James was in pleasurable agony. He wanted to rut into the mattress to give himself some relief but he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to do anything that would frighten the younger man. When Q’s fingers traced up the crease of James’ arse, James bit into his fist to keep from moaning. His eyelids squeeze shut as a sweat broke out over this skin.

Q moved back up his body and nudged at his shoulder.

“Roll over, I’m not done with you yet.” Q whispered into the man’s ear.

James forced the groan back down his throat. The drag of his member against the sheets did nothing to alleviate his need. Q stretched out beside James, laying on his right side. His head propped up on his bent arm as he looked down at the blond stretched out beside him.

Q wet his index finger and slowly dragged it across James’ nipple. The flesh pebbled quickly and James grit his teeth. James forced his hands to lay flat on the mattress. Q hummed as he slowly dragged his fingers down James’ midline and paused just above the nest of pale brown curls.

“Are you normally this quiet or do you think you need to be stoic for me?” Q asked. His voice dark and deep.

James opened his eyes and looked up at the younger man. Instead of looking at him, Q was staring at James’ engorged member, lifting away from his body. The tip glistening with precum.

“I don’t want you to be frightened.” James’ voice was rough.

Q’s eyes flicked up at James’ as the young man smiled. “I would rather know you are enjoying yourself than not. I have reason to think you are . . .” Q wrapped his hand around James’ length and lightly squeezed it. The blond closed his eyes and couldn’t withhold the lurid moan. Q smiled and slowly started pumping it. “That’s better.”

“You’re killing me.” James whispered.

“Not yet.” Q leaned forward and kissed the man. “But if you don’t stop acting like a dead man and start putting your back into it, I won’t promise anything.”

James felt his inner alpha growl. He smiled wickedly and reached up cup Q’s face.

“You asked for it.” James said as he rolled. Twisting his shoulders and letting the momentum push him over onto Q’s body. The younger man laughed as they did so. It was the first time James had heard Q laugh. It was peal of pure decadence. He promised himself he would do everything he could to make the young man laugh again. James allowed himself to take the lead in their interaction.

He shifted his body so that their groins matched up, then James pressed down into Q’s body. The younger man ached up into the contact and moaned as James thrust. Just the perfect amount of added pressure to tantalize Q’s hard cock.

“Bastard . . .” Q hummed as his hands reached up and circled around James’ head.

The blond leaned down and started to kiss and lick along Q’s neck.

“You have no idea.” James whispered.

They found a pace that met both their needs. Q pushing up into James’ body as the blond circled his hips. But it was still too slow for a release, and they were both panting with need when Q slipped his hand between them and wrapped his long fingers around both of their lengths. James growled and started thrusting forward with earnest. Q dragged his free hand through James’ wet hair, trying to find enough length to pull. The younger man arched up into James and kissed him. His teeth nipping at the man’s lower lip. James increased his speed as he chased Q back down to the mattress. Kissing the young man’s mouth as the first wave of his climax hit him.

“FUCK!”

James heard Q groan as he came. The young man’s body bow string tight as he felt the pulses of both of their releases between them. Slowly, James kissed up Q’s neck and over his jaw. Light and delicate kisses that were no more than a press of lips to sweaty skin. The taste of salt and something quite uniquely Q. When James reached Q’s mouth, the young man’s hand slipped to James’ cheek and held him there as Q licked into James’ mouth. Relishing the taste of the man.

“You taste like saffron and cinnamon.” Q whispered into James’ lips.

“Mmm . . . you just taste good.” James’ tongue chased after Q’s and plunged into the younger man’s mouth.

They rolled apart and let their bodies cool in the afternoon light. Q curled his body over James’ as the blond wrapped his arm around Q’s shoulder, pulling him tight. The two remained that way for several minutes. Waiting as the semen cooled on their skin.

“What are we going to do, James?” Q asked.

“Shower and clean up.” James leaned over and kissed the top of Q’s head. The dark curls were damp with sweat.

“No . . . I mean . . . where are you going to take me?” Q twisted and propped himself up on his elbows.

He looked down into James’ face. James thought Q looked older without his glasses but the man was still so young.

“I thought you would like to return to England and your family. But you are free now. You can go anywhere you like.”

Q glanced away for a moment and sighed. “So much has happened I don’t know if I can go back. It would be difficult and they would want to know . . . my family . . . what happened to me. I don’t want them to know.”

“Q, they need to know. You will need help to get over this eventually.” James said as he brought his hand up to cup Q’s face.

“Are you a fan of therapy?” Q asked.

James gave a weak laugh. “No.”

“But you want me to go? I don’t know . . .”

“Your family could help you.”

“I’ve spent so long believing they were dead. Relieved they were dead and not there to worry about me or to know what Jim . . . did to me. I think, maybe, I would be disturbed that they are alive.” Q glanced away.

James brought his hand up to Q’s face and pulled it back to where he could look into the hazel eyes.

“What Moriarty did to you is not who you really are. It was just a moment in history. It’s over and you survived. You are more than that.” He lightly kissed Q’s full lips. “You can do whatever you want to do.”

“And if I want to go with you?” Q asked without looking or sounding hopeful.

Part of Bond wanted the young man with him. Something about the lifestyle of Moran beckoned to the man. The idea of running his own life . . . answering to no one but himself . . . having someone like Q waiting for him. It all sounded wonderful. Then he remembered why he had been sent to kill Moran. The man was criminal. Someone who stole the innocence of young people like Q.

“I need to tell you something, Q.” James pulled his hand away and rolled over onto his back. He stared at the ceiling. “I’m not like Moran.”

“I know . . . you don’t want to own me. You want me to be my own person.” Q said still watching the other man.

“Yes . . . but I’m not like Moran . . . I was sent to kill him. My government sent me. I work for MI6.”

Q sat up and pulled away from James. “A spy?”

“Yes.”

Q scooted further away from James. “Did my brother send you?”

“Sherlock?” James sat up and looked at Q’s still face. James could see Q’s mask had returned. His features were emotionless and his eyes dulled.

“No, Mycroft?”

_‘Mycroft Holmes.’_ Bond remembered the name from the briefing he had with Mallory before he started this mission. He remembered Tanner calling the man the _‘Iceman’_. Something about Mycroft Holmes seem to scare Q. As more pieces of the puzzle appeared, the picture they formed seemed to get more blurry. Bond wondered if Mycroft knew Q was alive and that was reason he was sent to kill Moran. He wondered if Moriarty was the real reason Mycroft was after Moran or was it to avenge his brother.

Something Q had said to Sherlock came back to Bond too. _‘Jim came and . . . he said I looked like you. He told me he wanted you instead but you had already left for university and he couldn’t get to you.’_ Had Q been taken as a substitute for the older brother? Was Q not intended to be the victim but was just caught up in some sick game between the older brothers and Moriarty?

“I’ve never met your brother, Mycroft. I don’t know anything about him other than he works for the government.” James said.

“He is the British government.” Q snapped back.

“I don’t care if he is the Queen himself. It doesn’t matter to me.” James tried to reach for Q but the young man pulled back. “I’m not here to harm you . . . I won’t harm you. I promise.”

Q stared at Bond with a growing sense of doubt. Bond pulled back but kept his body language open and non-threatening.

“I wasn’t expecting you, Q. You were a complete surprise to me. I never thought on using you. And you are right . . . I don’t want to treat you like anyone else has. I want to be different for you. I want to be the one you trust even though trust is so foreign to you.”

James was rewarded with Q suddenly blinking his large eyes. The young man’s expression softened and his body relaxed.

“I don’t trust. I can’t . . . but I would like to try.”

“I won’t tell anyone else you are alive if you don’t want me too, but I think your family probably knows now from Sherlock. If you want, I will take you away. Anywhere you want to go.” James said.

“Will you stay with me?” Q asked.

This time it was James who looked sad. “I can’t, but I will make sure you will never be bothered again. Not by Moran or Mycroft or MI6 if you want. I have friends who will help us. I’ll even take you to the United States if that’s what you want.”

Q sagged. James reached out and the young man slipped back into his grasp. They kissed as Q moved closer.

“Let me fix you something to eat. You go shower and clean up and then later we will discuss what you want for yourself.” James said as his fingers slowly dragged through Q’s curls.

“Alright,” Q agreed. “But wouldn’t you rather join me in the shower?”

Q smiled at James and the older man couldn’t find a reason to argue with him.

~Q~

There wasn’t much in the way of food in the safe house. Bond was warming a can of soup while Q was tapping away on the laptop that was secured at the flat.

“Do they always leave computers laying around like this?” Q asked.

“Usually, just in case the agent needs to electronically contact MI6. Both laptops and a burner phone are left here. Neither has anything sensitive on it.” James said as he slowly stirred the chicken soup. “I think there are some crackers in the cupboard.”

Q stood up pulling himself away from the computer. Bond took a quick look at the screen and noticed Q was looking at some website that had cameras set up around a city. He took a longer look but wasn’t sure which city it was.

The knock on the front door surprised both of them. Q almost dropped the box of crackers as he turned to look first at the door then at James.

Bond was already reaching for the handgun resting in his waistband. He put his finger to his lips, telling Q to be quiet. He slowly walked towards the door. He knew whoever was knocking, they weren’t from MI6. The extraction team wasn’t due for another six hours. The knocking sounded tinny and shallow. That was because the door was actually made out of steal and covered with a veneer that made it look like it was made out of wood. Bullets wouldn’t pass through it. Beside the door was a small video screen that displayed the camera image of just outside the door. Two men were standing there. The shorter one Bond recognized as John Watson. He didn’t know the taller man wearing a suit.

John Watson seemed nervous. He watched as the taller man knocked the door again and sighed. Frustration took hold and John pushed the taller man out of the way and started to pound his fist heavily on the door.

“BOND, OPEN UP!” John shouted at the locked door.

Bond unlocked the door and pulled it slightly open. John tried to push the door open further but Bond blocked it with his body.

“Let us in.” John growled.

“No,” Bond held the door tight.

“Mister Bond, you will find your career in espionage ending immediately unless you do as you are told and allow Doctor Watson and myself to enter,” the tall man in the suit said.

James looked the man over carefully. Although his suit was wrinkled and creased, it was an expensive one. It appeared the man had spent several hours in it and that explained its appearance. The man was only an inch or two over six foot but standing next to Watson, he seemed very tall. He was of average build and more of an indoor office worker than someone who enjoyed the outdoors. His auburn hair was thinning but his blue-grey eyes were bright and intelligent.

“Who are you?” Bond asked.

“Mycroft Holmes and your worst enemy at this very moment.” The man said as he pushed forward.

Bond recognized the name and stepped back, opening the door for the two men to enter the flat. As soon as they were in, Bond closed and locked the steal door again.

Q was standing in the kitchen. A long chef’s knife in his hand. His face was neutral but James could see the fear and expectation in Q’s eyes. The slight shake to the young man’s body.

The gun was already in James’ hand before he spoke.

“Are you Sherlock’s other brother?”

Mycroft didn’t answer Bond. Instead he stared at Q. His eyes traveled over the younger man’s face and body. Categorizing every detail he could tease out without asking a word. Mycroft saw the thin frame and long delicate fingers, so similar to his mother’s. The young man’s features almost mirrored those of Sherlock’s. Mycroft saw the faint scar around Q’s neck from leather collar. He noticed the bandage on Q’s wrist and the scar encircling the opposite wrist. The dark lines of the tattoo around Q’s ring finger.

“I am your . . .” Mycroft started.

“I know exactly who you are.” Q said. He remained where he was standing but tightened his grip on the knife.

“Doctor Watson informed me of your . . . presence but I am amiss of how you arrived here.” Mycroft said.

Bond rolled his eyes. He had never heard such a cold greeting between two brothers before.

“It doesn’t really matter. Why are you here?” Q asked.

“Sherlock . . . our brother needs us.”

“I needed you once and none of you were there.”

Bond moved closer to Q and took up a defensive position to protect the younger man. John huffed out a breath in frustration.

“This is taking too much time. Look . . .” He stepped forward. “When we left you this morning, Sherlock was bound and determined to go after Moran.”

Q took a step closer to James at the name of his husband. John continued.

“Moran got the jump on us and he took Sherlock. I needed your help. I didn’t know how to find you so I called Mycroft. He got the location of this safe house. Believe me when I tell you, asking this bastard for help is the very last thing I would do, but I’m desperate. We need to save Sherlock. I’m begging you. Moran said Q had to return to him before sunset or he was going to kill Sherlock.”

“No.” Bond snapped. “He won’t go back.”

“I agree but we must retrieve Sherlock. If Sherrinford came with me, we could . . .” Mycroft started.

“Not going to happen either.” Bond scowled. Q stepped closer and rested his hand on James’ arm.

“Why should I help you? It’s not like you’ve done anything to help me.” Q said.

“You can’t believe we did nothing in regards to look for you when you disappeared.” Mycroft plead.

“All I know was Moriarty enjoyed torturing me and telling me that my brothers were to blame for it.” Q stared unforgivingly at his brother.

“Sherrinford, he was lying. You must be intelligent enough to know that.”

“I know that psychological torture is as cruel as physical, if not more so. I know I spent five years of my life being beaten and raped repeatedly whenever you or Sherlock upset him. I know I almost died before Sebastian came and rescued me from him. After that, I lived in a new horror. Intelligence is not the subject here, Mycroft. Neither is who was lying to whom. I know everyone lied to me. What is important now is who I can trust . . . and you are not on that very short list.”

The two Holmes stared at each other.

“Sherrinford . . . we tried . . . if I could have known anything I would have . . .” Mycroft seemed unable to collect his thoughts.

“You sent me to kill Moran.” Bond said coolly.

“What?” Q asked.

“Your brother ordered for Moran to be assassinated.” Bond said while he kept his gaze fixed on the older Holmes.

“Why?” Q turned to his brother. “Why would you want Sebastian dead? Did you know what he was doing to me? Did you know he forced me to marry him?”

“I didn’t know you were alive. I didn’t know.” Mycroft whispered.

“Then why?”

John stepped forward. “Does it matter?! Sherlock is in danger! We must save him . . . please!”

Q looked at John then turned to Bond. “What are you willing to do to keep me safe?”


	15. A Debt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James, Q, John and Mycroft make a plan.

Bond leaned over Q’s shoulder and stared at the computer screen.

“How in the hell did you do that?” Bond asked as he looked at the various videos showing the streets around the Empress.

“I told you I was very good with computers. I noticed the location of all the cameras around the Empress when we left. I simply hacked into the Wi-Fi feeds for the cameras. And voila!” Q said as he tapped on another set of keys and pulled up the street earlier in the day.

“You remembered all the different cameras?” James asked amazed at the different angles Q had of the boat and streets surrounding the area.

“Of course . . . couldn’t you?”

“No.” James said as he glanced at Q. The young man looked up at the agent, then the two men smiled simultaneously.

Turning back, Bond watched the computer screen as John Watson and Sherlock Holmes walked down the street towards the boat. They watched as Moran accosted the two. Q didn’t react when he saw Sherlock attack Moran, but Bond noticed the young man tense when he saw Sherlock get punched and collapse to the pavement. He was so focused on Q and James missed seeing John being knocked out.

“Wouldn’t Moran take him back to the boat?” John asked over the top of the computer.

“No,” Bond said. “Police and Küstenwache will be all over that boat since the explosion this morning. He needs to take Sherlock somewhere else. Somewhere private.”

The rest of the sentence ‘to kill him’ was unspoken.

“See, they are carrying him away from the Empress.” Q said as he pointed at the screen.

He tapped a few more keys and another view of the men appeared. The image showed Moran’s men carrying Sherlock’s unconscious body down an alley and around a corner. Q leaned back in his chair.

“Any other CCTV?” John asked.

“No, that’s it. I’ve checked other cameras around that area but I can’t pick them up at all. There are dozens of places in that area that they could have Sherlock in. Many of the buildings are occupied but if the business is a front for one of Sebastian’s illegal operation then he would have no fear hiding Sherlock there.”

“What about Moriarty?” John asked. “Would Moran be willing to kill Sherlock without direct orders from Moriarty?”

Q sighed. “Moriarty is dead. Moran has been using his reputation to consolidate his power. He is the actual head of the organization now.”

“We have information that he is still in control of the organization.” Mycroft tried to look critically at the others, but Bond saw a crack in the man’s facade.

“You’re intel is wrong, but you already knew it is wrong.” Bond said angrily.

John stared at Mycroft. “Sherlock told me he thought the man was dead, but you told him he was wrong. You knew, didn’t you? You knew Moriarty was dead and you lied to Sherlock! You sent Sherlock chasing after a ghost for two years! How fucking stupid do you have to be?”

Mycroft stepped away from the three men and slowly started to pace in a circle. His features were unreadable but everyone realized the man was struggling with himself.

“Why did you lie to Sherlock?” John asked again.

“I had to.” Mycroft regretted saying it as soon as the words left his lips.

“You knew Moriarty was dead but you told Sherlock he was alive? Why?” Bond asked.

Mycroft glanced at Q then at the two other men. He paced the room for several strides trying to decide what he could say.

“Mycroft . . . why would you do that to Sherlock? Why did you not give him complete information?” Q asked.

Mycroft paused and looked at his brother again. “It started with your disappearance.” Mycroft waited for the significance of that statement settled. “Sherlock never admitted it, but it was apparent he believed the idiot police officer who told us you had run away.”

“Sherlock didn’t say that.” John interrupted. “He said he believed his brother was kidnapped and then . . . murdered.”

James placed his palm on Q’s shoulder. The young man leaned into the touch.

“He may have told you that John, but the truth is . . . after we realized we would never see Sherrinford again, Sherlock started to abuse drugs. The anniversary of your disappearance, I found him in a crack house near the Vauxhall Tunnels. He blamed himself to the point he wanted to harm himself.”

“Are you telling this to Sherrinford to make him feel responsible for Sherlock’s choices?” Bond asked through gritted teeth.

“No,” Mycroft said, glancing away. Partially he was, but more importantly he wanted to explain why he felt the need to lie to Sherlock. “Sherlock’s feelings towards you, John, are very strong. I never thought he would ever care for anyone after losing Sherrinford . . . but you came along and suddenly Sherlock had a rudder again. He had a direction, a ‘cause’ if you like. His ridiculous choices began to be reasonable. When he thought you were in danger, John, he was willing to do anything to save you.”

Mycroft waited and let his words sink in. John felt a wave of nausea but nodded his head. He said, “I realize that. I didn’t at the time, but now . . . it should have been obvious to me, I know.”

“I told him that for your safety and that of Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, he needed to stop Jim Moriarty. When he came off that roof and told me Moriarty had shot himself I believed him . . . given Moriarty’s previous self-destructive nature . . .” Mycroft couldn’t maintain eye contact with John or his brother.

“You thought to lie to him to keep him afraid for John.” Q said calmly.

“There was no body to find and I convinced Sherlock the man had faked his death just as Sherlock had. It would be imperative for Sherlock to go after him.” Mycroft said.

“Sebastian was there and took it. It was his opportunity to take over and you gave it to him. If you had announced Moriarty’s death, then Moran would have lost most of his control. I could have left him sooner.” Q said.

John ignored what Q had said. He stepped forward and blocked Mycroft’s pacing.

“For two years you made your brother chase a ghost?” John asked. Anger bubbling up under his skin.

“What did you gain by sending Sherlock away?” Bond asked.

“Lazarus.” Mycroft said simply.

Bond had heard of the mysterious agent who worked in the shadows. The operative who had brought down dozens of networks around the world and was responsible for over a hundred arrests of criminals.

“England was safer with Sherlock becoming Lazarus. I told him for years he should have joined with me. Helped me with the care and protection of the nation. He thought he was doing it to save John Watson, but he what he did saved all of us.” Mycroft said, lifting his head proudly.

John balled his fist and aimed it right at Mycroft’s nose. He was rewarded with the wonderful sound of a crunch. Breaking bones and burst blood vessels. Mycroft screamed and covered his face with his hands as the blood smeared across his pale cheeks. He fell backwards, crashing into the low coffee table in front of the couch.

Q stood up but didn’t step to his brother’s rescue. He was shaking and felt like he needed to escape the room. He started to rush towards the door, but James grabbed his uninjured wrist and pulled him back to his body.

“I’m here.” He whispered in Q’s ear. “I’ll protect you.”

Q sagged and stepped closer, allowing the blond to wrap his arms around the young man’s body.

James turned and looked over at John and Mycroft. John was still standing, glaring down at the fallen bureaucrat. Blood flowed easily from Mycroft’s broken nose. His blue-grey eyes were watery and red.

“Watson . . .” Bond said calmly. “He isn’t worth the effort.”

“But if felt fucking fantastic.” John snapped back.

John stepped away from the fallen man and back towards the computer screens. Bond’s eyes were fixed on Mycroft.

“You knew the whole time that Moriarty was dead and didn’t inform the other branches of the government.” It was a statement and not a question. Bond continued. “That is why you ordered us to assassinate Moran instead of using him to track Moriarty?”

“I knew Moran was part of the Moriarty’s old network. I also knew he was involved in Sherrinford’s disappearance fifteen years ago.” Mycroft voice was nasally sounding.

The man pulled himself off the floor and sat heavily on the couch. He yanked his handkerchief dramatically from his pocket and shook it out before pressing it under his bleeding nose.

“I wanted him stopped. You were ordered to kill him, not become his colleague.” Mycroft scowled at Bond.

“Did you know about Q?” Bond asked. The young man in his arms looked up into James’ face. James could see the confusion and fear in Q’s hazel green eyes.

“You can’t imagine I would allow my own brother to prostitute himself to that man!?” Mycroft was flabbergasted.

“After what you just admitted about Sherlock!?” John shouted.

Mycroft glanced up at the angry doctor. He blinked and looked back at Q and Bond.

“No, I didn’t know that you were even alive. There was no mention of a spouse. No documentation. No one knew Moran was married.”

Q looked down at the tattoo on his finger. The intertwine black lines were stark against the pale skin. Bond pulled him tighter and raised his gun pointed the muzzle at Mycroft.

“If I ever learn that you knew Q was alive and did nothing to rescue him, I will make sure they won’t find your body.”

Q raised his hand and rested it lightly on James’ wrist. “No, James . . . as you said, he’s not worth it.”

James glanced at Q then slowly lowered the gun. Q leaned in and softly kissed James’ lips. Then lightly rested his forehead against the blonde’s.

“This doesn’t get Sherlock back and we are running out of time.” John said as turned his back on Mycroft.

“Q is not going back to Moran in exchange for Sherlock. He has already said that regardless if Q returns he’s going to kill the man.” Bond said.

“But we have to do something! We can’t just not try!” John plead.

Q gently pulled himself from James’ embrace and walked into the kitchen while he was talking.

“We all agree that I’m more important to Sebastian than anything else we can bargain with?” The silence that followed was the unanimous agreement. “Alright. And that Sebastian is determined to kill Sherlock.”

“He may already be dead.” James said. John scowled.

Q returned from the kitchen with a hand full of ice wrapped in a tea towel. He handed it to Mycroft who mumbled a thank you.

“It is very simple . . . I need to return to Sebastian with the stipulation that he not only frees Sherlock but he allows me to see him before I leave with Sebastian.” Q said turned back towards Bond.

“No, Q. He will . . . hurt you again.” James’ expression hardened.

“Only if I stay with him. I won’t. He will take me to Sherlock. You will follow us and when the time is right . . . you will rescue both of us.”

“Too many variables in that equation. No, you won’t do it.” James said.

“Bond . . . we are running out of time.” John implored.

“What if he takes you someplace I can’t follow you? What if I lose track of you?” James demanded.

“I’ll be with him.” John said.

“What?”

“I’ll will go with Q to the boat and insist that if he wants Q, Moran will need to take both of us to Sherlock. I don’t know . . . I’ll hold a gun on Q or something.” John explained.

“Then both of you will be taken. Not a viable option.” Bond glared at the soldier.

“There is a more logical and reasonable plan.” Mycroft said from the couch. His voice partially muffled by the towel. “John and Sherrinford meet Moran and Sherlock in a neutral location.”

Q glanced around quickly. “There are burner phones here, correct?”

James didn’t answer the young man but Q kept talking.

“We can use the phones. I’ll hide the phone on me and you can listen in to the conversation.”

“And if he takes you some place I’ll be chasing you through the streets. Should I stop and wait for Goggle maps to catch up to us?” James said sarcastically.

“MI6 safe houses are equipped with basic needs. Phones, computers, weapons and communication devices. I will be here with the computer. I will use the CCTV cameras we have access to and I will relay the information to you through ear wicks.” Mycroft said from the couch.

The three other men turned to look at him.

“You?” John huffed. “Why should we trust you?”

“Because Sherlock and Sherrinford are still my brothers and regardless of what you think of me, I still want to save their lives.” Mycroft glanced away briefly then looked back at the men with hardened determination. “I have a debt to pay.”

“Are you familiar with covert operations?” Bond asked.

“I am the ‘Iceman’.” Mycroft said coolly. “I’m sure I could teach you a thing or two about covert or black ops, 007.”

Q stepped closer to his brother. “The computer skills for this are beyond basic hacking.”

“I am aware of that. I am more than proficient in providing technical support for the mission.” Mycroft reassured his brother.

James and John glanced at each other. When James nodded his head he turned back to the two Holmes.

“Alright, we have less than an hour to prepare.”


	16. Fuchs und Jagdhund’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation.

The only light in the room came from the single bare bulb above Sherlock’s head. The basement was damp and cold. Sherlock was glad he still had his black coat on but his shoulders were in marked pain from the strain. His hands hand been cuffed behind him for hours. The idiots had only handcuffed his hands together and had not secured him to the chair. The chair was metal and solid, and if they had secured him to it, he couldn’t have escaped easily.

Two men were stationed in the basement room with him. Apparently, Moran understood Sherlock’s capacities and ordered him to be watched full time. Changing shifts every few hours. The present two guards were the best candidates so far for Sherlock’s escape. Sherlock was still suffering from the effects of being knocked out when the first two guards watched him. He was unable to deduce anything about them. The next two were boring. There was nothing special that he could use to manipulate them. But the present two were lovers and allowed Sherlock a means of escape.

He looked at the younger of the two men. “You are a very understanding man.”

The man huffed out a condescending laugh. “Why?” He smiled expecting some awkward compliment.

“You are contented to let your lover to have relations with others.”

The younger man shifted in his chair to move his upper body further away from the other man.

_‘Ah . . .’_ Sherlock thought, _‘They are hiding their relationship from the other members of Moran’s crew. Excellent.’_

“It’s obvious that the two of you are in a physical relationship. And while you appear to be monogamous, your partner is definitely not.” Sherlock smiled smugly.

The younger man glanced fervently at the other man. The other man was older by at least five years and dark skinned.

“Shut up.” The dark skinned man said.

“Josh?” The younger man inquired.

“He’s lying . . . trying to get you to stop watchin’ him.” Josh said while he glared at Sherlock.

The younger man glanced back at Sherlock. “What makes you think we are lovers?”

“Well, the term ‘fuck buddies’ might apply if you weren’t romantically involved. But it is evident by the way you have looked at him no less than twenty-three times in the last hour while you were supposed to watching me. You find yourself overtly attracted to the man. Your pupils have dilated each time you looked at him. And I could see your skin flush when you look at him. A definite indicator of increased capillary flow.” Sherlock continued. “While he may not be as committed to the relationship as you are because he has only glanced at you twice since you have entered the room. The two of you are obviously in a physical relationship and have engaged in coitus earlier today by the fact that both of you are wearing the combined scent of two different aftershave lotions as well as the subtle scent of lubricant.”

The younger man blushed while the older man glared at Sherlock.

“I said shut the fuck up.” Josh growled.

“As I stated earlier, your partner is also copulating with another while he is enjoying your company.” Sherlock paused for affect. “A woman, no less. Blonde, early twenties. Definitely not on the boat so someone he met in town.”

“That waitress!” The younger man shouted. “You fucker’! How could you do that to me?!”

Josh turned to the younger man. “He’s makin’ the whole thing up. Believe me. I wouldn’t step out on you.”

“He saw her this morning after he was with you.” Sherlock said. “Look, there is a long blonde hair on his shirt. And a smudge of cherry red lip ruse under his jawline.”

Josh’s hand wiped reflexively at his neck. The younger man immediately searched Josh’s shirt. Josh swiped his hand violently at the shirt but the other man grabbed the eight inch strand of hair before it fell to the ground.

“You bastard!” The young man ran out of the room.

“Eddy!” Josh shouted as he ran after the younger man.

Sherlock smiled and twisted his wrists until his long fingers could grasp the thin wire hidden in the seam of his coat sleeve. He had practiced picking the locks on handcuffs before. It had taken him almost five minutes to do with his hands secured behind his back. He doubted he would have that much time now, but hopefully Josh and Eddy would want to engage in ‘make-up’ sex before returning to guard duty.

~Q~

John look at Q carefully. “Are you ready?”

The younger man nodded his head. John was taken aback at how much Q looked like his older brother. For a moment John saw a young frightened version of Sherlock. The dark curls shifted and swayed with the direction of the young man’s head. The wide forehead over slim eyebrows. The pale skin tight over sharp cheek bones. The firmly set jaw and the tight lips. The only difference was the color of the eyes. Q’s eyes were a warm hazel green whereas Sherlock’s had ethereal blue-green that in certain light appeared silver.

John felt an instant protectiveness for the youngest Holmes. The need to shelter and guard the younger version of his lover. The voice in his head, that sounded just like Sherlock, reminded him that _‘caring was not an advantage’_.

“Bugger that . . .” John whispered to himself.

He picked up the mobile and dialed the number Q had given him. It was answered on the first ring.

“Who is this!?” The voice growled down the line.

“Moran, it’s Watson. I’m ready to make the trade.”

There was silence for a moment then Sebastian Moran spoke. “Bring him to the Empress.”

“No. Neutral ground. There is a café across the park from your boat. ‘Fuchs und Jagdhund’. Be there in ten minutes with Sherlock or I’ll kill your husband.” John said as he stared into Q’s face.

There was silence then Moran said. “Let me speak to him . . .”

John wish he had thought to ask to speak to Sherlock too, but he doubted that Moran would be where Sherlock was.

“No.” John said coldly and disconnected the call.

John watched as Q stepped over to James and rested his head on the other blonde’s shoulder. James’ arm came up and protectively wrapped around Q’s shoulder.

Mycroft moved closer to his younger brother.

“Excuse me, but . . .” Mycroft held up the bloody towel he had used to stem the blood from his broken nose. “A little staging will hopefully convince Moran that you were not guilty of leaving of your own accord.”

Q glanced at Mycroft and raised an eyebrow. Mycroft stepped closer and dabbed the still wet towel under Q’s chin and down his neck. He smeared the blood down Q’s shirt. Not a lot, but enough to stain the white cloth and leave the impression that Q had been injured.

“That should throw Moran off balance enough to help.” Mycroft said.

James frowned at the blood then looked up into Q’s face. He could see the apprehension in Q’s eyes.

“I won’t let him take you.” James said as he cupped Q’s cheek. “I promised you I would keep you safe and take you back to England.”

“Sherrinford . . .” Mycroft interrupted. “We will all keep you safe. We failed in the past but will not fail you now.”

~Q~

Moran growled. He wanted to throw the mobile across the room but it was the only way he could contact Watson and through him, his husband, Pup. Moran wanted to believe that Bond took the young man without Pup’s permission. That the young man was terrified of the fire and went with the blonde.

Moran glanced at the men in the room with him. Sutcliff was sitting in a chair with a snide glint in his eyes. Everyone else were warily watching Moran.

“Where is Holmes?” Moran growled at one of the men.

The men glanced at each other, then the bravest of the bunch stepped forward.

“We don’t know. When Ryan went to check on him, he was gone along with Josh and Eddy.” The man feared that Moran would take his anger on him. ‘ _Kill the Messenger’_ flashed though the man’s mind.

“Josh and Eddy are off blowing each other. I’ll fucking shoot them if they’re stupid enough to come back.” Moran snarled.

Sutcliff sat in the corner of the room and watched as Moran paced around. A sly curl came to his lips as he watched the bigger man snap at the other men.

“Maybe Holmes and Bond are working together. Stealing your ‘puppy’ was their prime objective. No telling what that whore is giving them now.” Sutcliff mused from his seat.

Moran turned and glared at the man. “Pup is mine! He wouldn’t tell them anything!”

“You keep telling yourself that. He’s been panting after Bond from the moment he saw him.”

Moran took two steps towards Sutcliff. His fist tightly balled ready to punch the man’s face.

“You suggested Bond be Pup’s bodyguard!” Moran yelled.

“I just wanted to show you that you couldn’t trust the little whore. Why do you think Moriarty always kept him collared? He was nothing but trouble since he arrived.”

Moran’s fist smashed into Sutcliff’s face. The man’s jaw shattered. Sutcliff flew out of the chair from the force of the punch. He fell like a ragdoll to the floor, unconscious. Moran growled. He wanted the man to get up so he could hit him again.

The other men in the room stepped back from their enraged leader. Moran’s face was dark red and his eyes flashed with hatred.

“I need Holmes . . . NOW! FIND HIM!” Moran shouted.

He had less than ten minutes to get Holmes to the meet with Watson, but he promised himself he would kill both of them. And if Bond was there, he would kill him too.

~Q~

It was early and the small pub was almost empty. The woman behind the bar was restocking the shelves, preparing for the evening crowds that would soon be arriving. In two hours, the small pub would be packed with university students and the music would be deafening. She glanced up as the two men came in. One was blond and the other had dark curls and glasses. The blond lifted two fingers and pointed to the tap. She nodded and went to pull two beers.

John and Q sat on the bench in the rear of the pub. John glanced around then pressed the earwick in his right ear.

“Mycroft?”

“Moran is walking off the Empress now. He is talking to one of the crew but it appears . . . yes, he is alone. No Sherlock. I don’t see him anywhere.” Mycroft’s voice was tinny in John’s ear.

“Bugger.” John hissed. “Should we leave?”

“No, maybe he wants to make sure I’m here before he brings Sherlock in.” Q said as he glanced around the pub. He didn’t recognize anyone from the Empress.

“He is walking up to the pub now. Mycroft out.” The earwick clicked in John’s ear.

Moran walked into the pub just as the woman set the two beers down on the table in front of John and Q. The bench that he and Q sat on was built into the wall and Q was pushed into the corner behind the table. John would have to move if Q wanted to leave.

As he entered, Moran glanced around the nearly empty pub. The woman had returned to the bar and was removing bottles of beer from a cardboard box and placing them in a refrigerator. Another couple, a male and female were sitting near the front window. They each held the corners of a tour guide book, looking through the pages. Another man sat near the front of the pub. He was dressed in jeans and grey hoodie. The want ads from the newspaper was spread out in front of him. He held a pen in his right hand as he slowly drank a cup of coffee, before he circled another job offer in the paper.

Moran’s eyes quickly found Q sitting in the corner. Immediately, he noticed the blood on the young man’s pale throat. Moran ignored everyone else in the pub and marched across the room and stood in front of the table where John and Q were sitting.

“What happened to him?” Moran asked. His eyes fixed on Q’s body.

“Where is Sherlock?” John asked, ignoring Moran’s question.

“I’ve got him. You can have him once I have Pup.”

John glanced around the pub. Nothing seemed out of place but John had learned to fear what you couldn’t see.

“I told you to bring him.”

“Why is there blood on Pup?” Moran asked. He glared at Q and the young man shivered.

“It’s not mine . . . Bond told me the boat was on fire . . . I was scared . . . I didn’t want to go . . . I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry.” Q whimpered. Moran’s expression seemed to soften as he listened to the young man plead with him.

“Whose blood is on you?” Moran’s voice had definitely tempered as he stared at Q.

“Bond’s.” John said.

“Where is the bastard?” Moran growled. The hardness returned.

“I killed him. He wouldn’t give me your . . . husband.”

John reached over and slowly pulled the front of Q’s jacket open. The smear of blood could be seen on the shirt underneath.

“Don’t worry, your husband is unhurt. And he will remain that way unless I don’t see Sherlock here in five second.” John moved his hand up from under the table. Moran could see the gun in it. The muzzle was pointed right at Q’s chest.

Moran’s eyes flicked from the gun to John’s face, then over to Q’s. His hand twitched and started to shift towards the gun he had hidden at the small of his back.

“Don’t . . .” John hissed.

Through the earwick, John heard Mycroft curse. The hairs stood up on the back of John’s neck. He wanted to know what Mycroft saw but he couldn’t ask the man. He stared up at Moran. The other blond had his eyes trained on John’s gun and its close proximity to Q’s heart. He heard Mycroft curse again in his ear and he quickly glanced around to see if more of Moran’s men were coming into the pub.

“Holmes is on the Empress. Come with me and we will trade.” Moran scowled at John and Q.

John could feel Q flinch beside him and he knew the young man was frightened. He wanted Sherlock back but he had promised to keep the young man safe. He hesitated while Moran stared at him.

“Don’t John . . . Sherlock is . . .” Mycroft whispered in John’s ear.

Their ears popped suddenly. A millisecond later the front window blew inward, shattering. The explosion was loud and knocked Moran off his feet. Mycroft’s words were drowned out by the blast. Q and John were pushed back into their seats. John instinctively brought his arm up and wrapped it around Q’s head to protect it. Pulling the younger man closer to John’s own body, the doctor’s mind registered _‘bomb’_.

The couple who had been sitting by the window were knocked off their chairs. The woman was crying and shaking the unconscious man. The woman who had been behind the bar was shaken but able to crawl out over broken glass and puddles of alcohol. The other man in the grey hoodie was slowly climbing to his feet.

Q pulled away from John and looked out of the broken front window.

“The Empress!” Q shouted.

John looked up as Moran started to lunge at him. John twisted his arm but Moran was on him before John could shoot. Moran brought his right elbow up and cracked it over the left side of John’s face. John’s head slammed back into the wood paneling. It hit hard and John saw stars just before everything went grey and faded out.

Moran reached over John’s limp body and grabbed Q’s arm.

“NO!” Q shouted as Moran stood up and tried to pull the younger man over John.

“You’re com’in with me!” Moran growled.

The blonde backhanded Q across the face. The young man’s lip split from the blow and blood smeared across his pale skin. Moran stood up straight and yanked Q over the table and onto the floor. Q saw a flash of movement behind the taller man. The grey hood was shoved back off James’ blonde hair.

Bond leapt forward, landing on Moran’s back. Moran let go of Q as the two men fell to the floor. Bond got to his feet first. He drew his fist back to punch Moran in the jaw, but the ex-soldier threw out his arm and hooked James’ legs. Sweeping his feet out from under him, Bond fell to the floor.

Moran tried to crawl over Bond, but the agent quickly brought his foot up and kicked Moran in the face. Moran grunted as he was shoved backwards onto his butt. Bond scrambled and got to his feet. Moran jumped up and lunged forward at the man. Bond grabbed Moran’s upper arms and twisted his body to the side. Using the other man’s momentum, Bond heaved Moran into a table. The ex-soldier slid across the polished wooden surface and crashed into the wall.

Moran staggered to his feet and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

“I should have known you were still alive.” Moran hissed at Bond. Then he glanced over at Q. “Once I kill your lover, I’ll make sure you never forget you belong to me, Pup!” He lunged towards Q as the young man yelped.

Q jumped back and huddled next to the wall. His escape route from the destroyed pub was blocked by the two men fighting. Q glanced up and out the busted front window. The burning wreckage of the Empress was drawing a crowd. People were rushing down to the dock to watch the luxurious riverboat burn.

Moran twisted and rushed Bond. He wrapped his thick arms around the man’s chest and locked his hands together between Bond’s shoulder blades. Moran lifted Bond off the floor and squeezed his arms together. Bond gasped as his ability to breath was taken away from him. His ribcage was being crushed and he felt his bones wanting to crack. Bond tried to push himself out of Moran’s embrace but couldn’t find any leverage. He suddenly punched the heels of his palms over the other man’s ears. Moran grunted and let Bond go.

Bond gasped for air as he fell to the floor. Moran lifted his foot to kick Bond in the face when he heard the gunshot. Turning to look up, Q held John’s Sig Sauer in his shaking hand. Slowly, Moran turned and faced the frightened young man.

“Pup . . .”

“Don’t call me that!” Q shouted.

“Put the gun down. You don’t know what you are doing.” Moran spoke softly.

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Put it down or you will regret it.” Moran voice became angrier. Q shook but kept the gun pointed at Moran.

Moran balled his fists and took a step towards Q. Bond got back up to his feet and rushed towards Moran. He tackled the ex-soldier, knocking him back down to the floor. Bond slipped behind the man and reached his arm around Moran’s chest. He gripped the opposite shoulder and then with his other hand he grabbed the ex-soldier’s chin. Yanking violently in opposite directions, Bond heard the snap of bones as he broke Moran’s neck. The man kneeling on the floor in front of him sighed heavily and fell forward dead.

Q slumped down the wall and collapsed next to John. Bond rushed over and pulled the young man up onto his feet.

“It’s over. It’s over. You’re safe. I promised you . . . you’re safe.”

Q looked up into James’ bright blue eyes and threw his arms around the other man’s shoulders. He pulled James forward and hugged him. Tears clouded his vision as he felt James’ arms encircle him.

It was over. Moran and Moriarty were both dead. He was free. He could go home.

Q blinked as tears slipped down his face. He tried hard to not to cry but the sound that escaped him was a cross between the sob and peal of laughter. He opened his eyes. A tall figure was slowly walking into the pub. His long dark coat cover his thin body. Q blinked again and squeezed James tighter.

“Sherlock.” Q whispered.

“We’ll find him.” James reassured the man in his arms.

“No . . . it’s Sherlock.” Q said as he pushed James’ shoulder.

The blond turned and looked to the detective slowing walking into the room. He was glancing around then settled his eyes on the dead body of Moran.

“Who killed him?” Sherlock asked.

“I did.” Bond said calmly.

Sherlock glanced up. His face was bruised and there were scorch marks on his black coat. “Shame. I was hoping he had died in the blast.”

“Did you blow up the Empress?” Bond asked as turned to fully face the older Holmes.

“You can’t honestly believe I would willfully break the law?” Sherlock said with a smug expression.

“I noticed that wasn’t a denial.” Bond replied.

“And you’re not going to get one.” Sherlock stepped closer and looked down at his younger brother. “Are you . . . unhurt?”

“Yes, but John . . .” Q stepped back and Sherlock saw his friend and partner unconscious on the floor.

Sherlock rushed forward and knelt beside John.

“He should wake up soon. Moran had a wicked right punch.” Even as Bond said it, John moaned and slowly rocked his head to the side.

“Sherlock? . . .” John groaned.

“I’m here, John.”

John slowly opened his eyes and looked up in the silver-blue eyes of his lover. John smiled and raised his hand up and cupped Sherlock’s face.

“Can we go home now?” John asked.

Sherlock gave John the very rare honest smile he saved just for him. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at his brother and James.

“Yes, I think it is time we all go home.”


	17. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q sees his parents.

The Learjet sat on the tarmac. John, Sherlock, James, and Q got out of the car as the plane’s engines began to turn. The high pitch whine of the jet engines hurt Q’s ears. He glanced up at the plane then halted suddenly. James stepped beside him and leaned closer so the young man could hear him.

“Do you not like flying?”

“I don’t remember.” Q said as his gaze fixed on the plane.

“What do you mean you don’t remember?”

Q took a hesitant step forward. “My parents took me on a plane when I was very young. I don’t remember most of it. Just screaming and crying as the plane took off and landed.”

James wrapped his arm around Q’s shoulder and pulled the young man closer.

“It will be fine. You won’t even notice we’re flying.” James lied.

Mycroft was standing in the doorway of the fuselage. His eyes were black and his nose was swollen. Sherlock glanced at his brother then over at John with a raised eyebrow.

“I finally had it, Sherlock. I had to punch him. I’m sorry.” John said as he ducked his head down ashamed that he had broken Mycroft’s nose.

“Don’t be. I only wish I had been there to see it.” Sherlock said as he took John’s hand in his own.

John glanced up and then smiled at the man.

“So do I, Sherlock.” John squeezed Sherlock’s hand.

John and Sherlock climbed the stairs to get into the plane. Q stopped at the base of the stairs and stared up at the open doorway. James gave Q a gentle shove and the young man slowly climbed up into the plane.

The interior of the Learjet was affluent. There was a small cream colored couch just inside the door that would easily seat three people or make a comfortable bed for one. Four more seats were further back in the plane, facing each other. The seats were upholstered in buttery soft pale leather. A small folding table of burled wood could be lifted between the facing seats on either side of the aisle.

Sherlock and John took the couch. John being responsible, quickly put on his seatbelt. Sherlock was busy checking through the messages on his mobile. James guided Q back, to one of the four seats facing each other. He let Q sit down and then bent over him to close the seatbelt across the young man’s lap. James then sat down opposite him. Facing backwards in the plane, James smiled at Q reassuringly. Mycroft sat opposite Q, across the narrow aisle.

The door of the plane was closed loudly and the co-pilot verified the passengers were seated and wearing their seatbelts. Sherlock was annoyed when he was told to put away his mobile and fasten his seatbelt. John just shrug and gave the co-pilot an apologetic look.

As the plane started to move, James leaned forward and took Q’s hands. Q’s eyes were as large as sauces and they darted around the enclosed cabin.

“You didn’t travel by aeroplane while you were away?” Mycroft asked as he glanced at his younger brother.

“While I was away? You make it sound like I was on holiday.” Q said scornfully. “I was kidnapped and made into a plaything. I didn’t get to go on planes or make travel plans, Mycroft. I was cuffed and chained to a wall for five years. After that, Moran put me on the Empress and wouldn’t let me leave.”

James glanced over at the older Holmes. He could see Mycroft pale under his bruises. Mycroft glanced away from his brother for a moment then returned his gaze. His jaw was tight and James could see the strain around his eyes.

“Forgive me for the egregious choice of words. I did not think. It is unforgivable. I know you have endured so much, Sherrinford. If we had known where you were, or even if you were alive, I assure you, we would have moved heaven and earth to reach you.”

Q stared at his brother for a moment, then bowed his head.

“I am sorry, Mycroft. I shouldn’t blame you for what happened. It’s just . . . for so long I wished for you and Sherlock to come and save me and you never came. After a while I began to hate you for not coming.”

The plane began to move away from the hanger and out on the runway. Q’s eyes frantically darted around the plane. His hand grabbed the armrests of his chair. The knuckles turned white from pressure.

“Q?” Bond asked.

“I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay.” James said as he leaned forward again and placed a hand on Q’s knees. “Just close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing. Listen to my voice.”

Q nodded his head and closed his eyes. James spoke softer so the young man had to concentrate harder.

“You know I own a country house in Scotland.” James said. Mycroft huffed and rolled his eyes. The blond ignored him and continued. “It is very gothic and old. When I was a boy I would play in the ‘priest hole’. It was an old tunnel carved through the rock and shale to a small chapel on the hill half a mile from the house.”

The wheels of the plane lifted off the ground and the engines gave one final roar as they pushed the plane higher and up into the stratus. Q was pushed back into his chair. His arms braced against the armrests wedging him into the cushions. He listened to Bond’s voice and concentrated on the feeling of warmth from the man’s hand on his leg. He force every other thought and sensation away.

When the plane leveled off at altitude, James gave Q’s knee a gentle squeeze and let go. He leaned back into his seat, discontinuing his story as he did so. Slowly, Q opened his eyes and glanced at James.

“Will you take me to Skyfall and show me the tunnel?”

James smiled. “What’s left of it, yes.”

Mycroft sighed again drawing his younger brother’s attention.

“Do you have a problem, Mycroft?” Q asked.

“Sherrinford, I am positive that Mister Bond will be engaged by MI6 and too busy to take any more holidays.” Mycroft said as he frowned at Bond, knowingly.

Bond kept his face neutral and didn’t return the comment. Mycroft lifted the small table and set the leg. He set his briefcase up on the wooden table in front of him and opened it.

“Now, we must come to a solution to discover everything we can about Moran’s operation. We could have had an easier time of identifying every one of his illegal ventures but Sherlock, in a pique of immaturity, blew the man’s riverboat up.” Mycroft glared at Sherlock who only shrugged and looked away.

“A pique of immaturity?” John grumbled. “It was his attempt at revenge for what happened to your own brother. Which I agree was foolish to do alone but was completely understandable.”

“And left us without any knowledge of where and what the man was doing.” Mycroft said.

“Mycroft, do shut up, please.” Q said as he rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “I have all the information you are looking for.”

Mycroft turned and looked at his youngest brother. “You?”

Q reached into his pocket and pulled out the thumbdrive with the information Q had stolen from Moran.

“I had access to Sebastian’s information and made a copy of everything . . . for James.”

He handed the thumbdrive over to the blond agent. Mycroft’s eyes widened as they followed the small plastic device. The corners of his lips were pulled down in a scowl.

“Sherrinford!”

“What is more important to you, Holmes?” James interrupted. “Finishing off Moriarty and Moran’s network or the return of your lost brother?”

Mycroft sputtered for a moment. “Sherrinford, of course.”

“I noticed you had to think about that.” John said from his seat beside Sherlock. “Oh, have you told Sherlock that you lied to him about Moriarty’s death yet.”

Sherlock’s head popped up from looking down and his attention turned on Mycroft. His silver blue eyes glared at this brother with laser intensity.

“Moriarty’s death?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft dipped his chin and glanced at his hands resting on the table. “Yes, I knew Moriarty had more than likely died two years ago on the roof of St. Bart’s. I saw the video of Moran removing the body before we were able to get there.”

“You told me he walked off the roof. You told me you saw him alive. That he was still alive and controlling everything. You told me he tricked me into believing he committed suicide.” Sherlock accused.

“It was necessary for you to go on the mission to destroy his network. Without the threat of his return and John’s protection, you wouldn’t have gone.” Mycroft said not returning his brother’s stare.

“You could have just asked.” Sherlock said.

“Would you have gone? . . . Would you have left John Watson behind? Think about it, Sherlock. Think about where you went and what you saw. Would you want John there too? Would you want him to share in the nightmares you have now?”

“I am a soldier, Mycroft. I’ve seen things too. I’ve done things too. You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle!” John said between gritted teeth.

“Is that the reason you punch him in the nose?” Sherlock asked his friend.

“No, I punched him because he sent you away after he lied to you about Moriarty. I think I’m going to punch him again for this.” John said.

“Don’t, it’s my turn.”

“ENOUGH!” Q shouted.

James leaned forward and took Q’s hand and gently squeezed it. “Scotland is waiting . . .”

“Our parents will be waiting at the airport when we land.” Mycroft said.

Q turned and looked at his brother. “Our parents?” His hand slipping out James’ grasp.

“Yes.”

James leaned back in his seat away from Q as he watched the young man’s face open up in amazement. He forced himself to not consider the emptiness he was feeling as Q pulled away from him.

“Are they . . . okay?” Q asked.

“I spoke to them. I informed them that we found you alive and well. I haven’t told them about . . . your imprisonment. I told them that you were forcibly kept from returning to us, but nothing more. I felt it was your decision to determine how much to disclose to them. But I must inform you, Sherrinford, our father is fragile. He didn’t handle your kidnapping well. You must be gentle with him.” Mycroft explained. His voice going softer and tender as he spoke of their father.

James could see the tears start to swell in Q’s eyes. The young man wiped at his eyes and brushed the tears away. He took a quick solid nod, letting his brother know he understood. James sighed quietly and reminded himself that this was what he wanted. To return Q to his family. To get the young man away from Moran and to bring him home. He should be happy with himself for accomplishing his mission, but Bond wasn’t pleased.

~Q~

The Learjet landed at the private airfield in Surrey. The wheels squealed on the tarmac as the brakes slowed the sleek plane down. Both of Q’s hands were being held by James as the young man leaned forward in his seat. The two men tried to close the distance between them but were limited by the seatbelts and the arrangement of the seats.

Mycroft watched carefully at the dynamics between his younger brother and the MI6 agent. He didn’t like the familiarity between the two of them but he had to admit he owed Bond for bring Sherrinford back to him reasonably unharmed. John chose to ignore Bond and Q but Sherlock cast an analytical gaze at the two. He saw his brother’s fear and Bond’s concern. Sherlock’s fingers sought out John’s hand and he surreptitiously intertwined their fingers. John glanced down at them, then up into Sherlock’s face. There was something undefinable there that made John smile lopsided and squeeze their joined hands.

The plane moved slowly off the runway and taxied over to a large open hanger. The plane’s stop was jerky and the passengers shifted in their seats. The engines powered down and quit spinning. The co-pilot came out of the cockpit and went immediately to the door. He ignored the passengers and opened the door, allowing the steps to fold out of the plane.

The five men hesitated before getting up. Bond was the first to rise and he held out his hand for Q to take. The youngest Holmes stood and looked into James’ crystal blue eyes. For a brief moment the two men shared a silent conversation. Then Q nodded his head and turned to leave.

Mycroft was the first to step off the plane. Followed slowly by Sherrinford and James. As soon as Q stepped out into the Surry sunshine, there was a loud gasp and cry of excitement. Q glanced up to see an elderly couple standing next to a dark haired woman dressed in a conservative black suit.

Q instantly recognized his parents. His father’s tall forehead and square jaw. His mother’s violet eyes and round face. He stumbled on the stairs and James caught his arm, holding him up. Mycroft stepped off the last stair as his parents came rushing forward. Q stepped down and into his mother and father’s embrace. The older couple were openly crying and praising their sons.

James stepped off the stairs and moved to the side. Sherlock and John came down the steps but Sherlock didn’t move forward. Mrs. Holmes had pulled Mycroft into the hug between her husband and her youngest. Mycroft seemed stiff but quickly lifted his arms to enfold his parents and brother into a hug.

John glanced up at Sherlock and noticed Sherlock was blinking back tears. The corners of Sherlock’s lips were pulled down and tight. John nudged at Sherlock’s shoulder. And the taller man glanced at him.

“Go on . . .” John whispered.

“But I didn’t . . .”

“You are just as much responsible for bring him home as anyone else. He is your brother . . . they are your family.” John pushed Sherlock again and the tall man stepped away from his friend and into his family’s embrace.

Q, standing in the middle of the four people, was being hugged and kissed. Being told how special and loved he was. Q kissed his mother and then his father. He rested his head on his father shoulder and breathed in the older man’s scent. Mint and tea. Just as he had remembered. He tried to remember the scent of his father all the years he was kept away.

As overwhelming as it was, Q still felt adrift. He needed the one person who helped to ground him. Q glance up to where he had last seen Bond. James was no longer standing by the stairs. Q quickly glanced around ignoring whatever it was his mother was saying to him. He saw the retreating silhouette of the blond as James turned the corner in the hanger and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did have to blink back tears as I wrote this. I hope you find it as emotional as I tried to make it.


	18. New Client

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John return to Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahead. If not your thing, skip the last third of the chapter. Thanks for all the kudos and support.

It was nine in the evening when John and Sherlock left Mycroft’s townhouse. It had been decided that Sherlock’s parents and Sherriford would stay at Mycroft’s for the next few days. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes did not want to leave Sherrinford’s side to the great distress of the young man. Mycroft hovered over his youngest brother also, adding to Sherrinford’s stress. After being with his family for an hour, Sherlock had had enough. He needed to get away from them and decompress. John agreed.

John could understand Sherrinford’s parent’s reaction to the return of their lost son, but it was still difficult for everyone else as Violet Holmes bounced back and forth between hysterical crying and sudden over protectiveness for her youngest. Neither of Sherlock’s parents asked about what had happened to Sherrinford while he was away. They seemed to know that it must have been horrific for the young man. They didn’t ask who had taken him or how he was found. They were just relieved with his return. John wondered when the time came that Sherrinford’s parents did start to ask questions and learn of Sherrinford’s abuse, how well they would handle it.

The taxi pulled up to the curb, in front of 221 Baker Street twenty minutes later. Sherlock was busy looking at his mobile so John dutifully paid the driver. The two men got out of the taxi and quickly entered the building. Sherlock was still flipping through emails and text messages while John unlocked the front door. The two men stepped inside and started up the stairs to their flat. John paused for a moment at a thought. It had been less than seventy-two hours since he and Sherlock had confessed their feelings for each other. Less than seventy-two hours since they had become lovers. John smiled at Sherlock as the man slowly climbed the stairs, his eye fixed on the small screen of his mobile. It seemed like a lifetime ago since they had been in 221B but it had been only a short time. And John couldn’t imagine himself being anywhere else but here. This was his home, and Sherlock was his life.

Sherlock stepped on the landing, and he slipped his mobile into his pocket as he looked up.

“We have a client.” Sherlock simply said as he reached for the door.

“Oh?” John said as he quickly followed Sherlock up the remaining stairs.

The two men stepped into their sitting room and saw the woman sitting in John’s chair as Mrs. Hudson sat in Sherlock’s. A warm fire was burning in the grate of the fireplace. Both women were sharing a cup of tea and Mrs. Hudson’s almond honey biscuits.

“Mrs. Hudson . . .” Sherlock stepped over to his landlady and rested his hand on her shoulder.

“Sherlock, dear, this is Mary. She is needing your help. Her sister is missing.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. We will take it from here.”

John stepped closer to the young woman and held out his hand. “John Watson, miss?”

“Moriston, Mary Moriston.” The woman stood up and took John’s hand.

Sherlock shifted a wooden chair to the middle of the room.

“Please sit here and tell us why you feel the need to seek my assistance.” Sherlock said.

“No, no, please just sit where you were, Miss Moriston.” John said as he waved towards his more comfortable chair.

Sherlock looked at John confused, then for the briefest moment, he felt a pain in the center of his chest. He watched as John helped the young woman back down into the chair she had just recently vacated. John pulled the wooden chair closer to her and sat down.

Sherlock quickly scanned over the woman sitting next to John. Her hair was straw blonde and short. There was a smudge of green paint on her neck, barely hidden by the collar of her simple white blouse. She wore a bright red cardigan with small flowers embroidered at the neck line and around the cuffs. _Molly would be envious_. The woman’s dark trousers had what appeared to be glitter spilled on them. She wore sensible shoes with flat soles. Beside her on the floor was a large leather handbag which was open. Inside, Sherlock could see a sheath of papers with rudimentary writing on it. Some had colorful hand drawn pictures obviously done by a child or maybe numerous children. As Sherlock stepped past her towards the fireplace, he noticed the faint scent of chalk dust.

“So Miss Moriston, is your sister also a school teacher?” Sherlock asked.

The young woman’s face lit up in surprise. Her pale blue eyes brightened as she looked up at him.

“How did you know I was a teacher?”

“Simple, but irrelevant . . . Your sister?”

“Rosie . . . she’s been missing for a week now.” Mary Moriston said. “She was supposed to meet me for lunch but I never saw her. The police said they have no clues and I’m so worried Mister Holmes, please help me.” Mary bowed her head and sobbed quietly.

John reached over and patted the young woman’s hand. “Don’t worry, Mary. We’ll find her. Sherlock will have no problem at all finding her.”

Mary glanced up and quickly took John’s hand in both of hers. Squeezing tightly she said. “She’s all I have left of my family. We were orphaned as children and grew up alone. I miss her terribly.”

John smiled softly and wrapped his free hand around their joined hands. Sherlock, standing at the fireplace, glared at John and Mary. Mrs. Hudson noticed the building tension in the room and quickly stood. Excusing herself from the room.

Sherlock took his seat and cleared his throat loudly.

“Please tell us of your sister and the circumstances of her disappearance?”

“Oh, yes . . . forgive me. I was just so overwhelmed. Rosie and I were orphaned . . .”

“You already told us that. Please bring us up to a week ago when she disappeared.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. John glared unhappily at the man.

“Oh, yes. Well, we share a flat. She went to have lunch with a friend on Saturday, the tenth, and never returned. I didn’t know who she was meeting and couldn’t tell the police where she had gone. She hasn’t called me or made any contact. I’m so scared. Please Mister Holmes, can you find my sister?” Mary began to cry again and John leaned over and patted her hands again.

Sherlock’s gaze followed John’s movements. He glanced up into the man’s face and saw John lean closer to the woman and reach his arm around her to gently rub her shoulder.

“What does your sister do for a living?” Sherlock asked as he forced himself to not leap out of the chair and grab John.

Mary sniffled and pulled away from John’s grasp. She wiped her nose with a tissue and hummed.

“She is a photographer. She take photos for the newspapers and television.”

“Photos?” Sherlock asked raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. She worked as a correspondent in Afghanistan and Iraq. She just got back from Syria.” Mary explained.

“Afghanistan? A war correspondent? How remarkable!” John said.

“Yes, she’s been very busy. Her photos have been in numerous magazines and newspapers. Here in Britain and overseas too.”

“Does she have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Anyone she is close to?” Sherlock asked.

“No, only me.” Mary replied and cried a little more.

“Has she received any threats lately . . . anything to do with her time away in these foreign countries or with photos she may have taken there?”

“Not that I know of?”

“What was she wearing when she disappeared? What did she take with her?” Sherlock asked.

“She was wearing a dark green jumper and black trousers. She had on her heavy denim jacket with a fake fur collar. Her leather boots. And a small leather backpack she uses as a handbag.”

“No camera equipment?”

“No, that is still at our flat.” Mary said.

“Interesting. Other than photography, does she have any other interests . . . sports, cooking . . . hang gliding?”

John glanced over at Sherlock again with an exasperated look on his face. Sherlock ignored him. Mary looked at him confused.

“Ah . . . no, not that I can think of . . . Oh, Mister Holmes, please help me!”

Sherlock spoke before the woman could start crying again. “Doctor Watson and I will be by your flat tomorrow morning around ten. You will be there?” Sherlock said as he quickly stood up.

Mary made a gulping sound as she glanced back and forth between the two men. Then she stood up. John immediately stood with her.

“Ah . . . tomorrow? You couldn’t come tonight?” Mary asked.

“No, I have a prior engagement that prohibits me from joining you tonight.” Sherlock said.

Sherlock caught the glare from John but didn’t react to it.

“Well, then . . . Doctor Watson could come with me. He could look through Rosie’s things and report back to you.” Mary suggested.

“Absolutely, not. John’s presences is needed here for the next interview.” Sherlock pulled out his mobile and glanced at the screen. “Which will be here in the next five minutes. So if you will please write down your address and phone number.” Sherlock went to the desk and grabbed a pad of paper and pen. “We will be at your flat by ten a.m. Maybe by then you will remember something useful about your sister.”

“Sherlock.” John growled softly.

“Oh!” Mary seemed flustered. “Alright, if there is no other way.”

She took the pad and wrote the address down. Handing it back to Sherlock, the man took it and tossed it on to the desk without looking at it.

Mary glanced between the two men again unsure what to do next. John sighed and took the young woman by the hand and walked her towards the door.

“Let me get you a taxi. This time of night you don’t want to take the Tube from here.”

John and Mary started to walk out of the flat.

“John, I need to discuss something with you.” Sherlock said trying to call his friend back.

“Later Sherlock. Once I’ve helped Miss Moriston.” John glared over his shoulder at Sherlock as he walked down the stairs

Sherlock took off his coat and tossed it onto the couch. He started pacing around the sitting room as he waited for John. Twice he went to the window to see the man standing on the pavement next to the blond woman. A sudden and unpleasant wave of jealousy crashed over Sherlock. He wondered if John had already grown tired of him. Usually it took six weeks before John’s liaisons with a woman ended. Was three days all that John could handle with a man? Or was it all that John could handle of Sherlock?

Sherlock stepped away from the window as his anger blossomed and jealousy took hold. He would show John that he was worth more than a silly little school teacher who apparently didn’t know anything about her own sister.

Sherlock heard John as he slammed the front door and ran up the steps; taking two at a time.

“Sherlock! What the hell was that?!” John shouted from the landing.

He ran up the last few steps and into the sitting room. And right into Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock crushed into John and pushed him up against the wall. His lips pressed into John’s surprised mouth. Sherlock grabbed John’s hands and pulled his arms above his head. Then he pressed his forearm across John’s wrists, trapping them there.

With his free hand, Sherlock grasped John’s jaw and twisted the man’s face to the position he wanted. With better access to John’s mouth, Sherlock took control. Licking and diving into the smaller man, left John gasping for air as he shifted his hips to rub against Sherlock’s thigh.

“Sherlock . . . what is . . . going . . . what are you . . . oh, fuck . . .” John breathed out as Sherlock’s hand moved down and palmed the erection in the man’s jeans.

“John, I want you.” Sherlock’s voice was deep and dark. Laced with promises.

“Just let me . . . why were so mean to Mary?” John said as he tried to clear his head.

Sherlock wouldn’t let him. Instead of answering the man, Sherlock sucked on John’s pulse point in his neck. The bruise would be very visible in the morning if Sherlock decided to actually go to see Mary Moriston. Sherlock shifted closer to John, moving his hand out of the way so he pressed his own hard length into John’s groin.

“Bed!” John groaned as Sherlock rutted against him. “NOW!”

Sherlock didn’t wait for another word or query. He grabbed John’s wrist and pulled him towards his bedroom. Both men struggled to remove their clothes as they went. John’s right trainer was left in the sitting room and his other one was in the kitchen. Sherlock’s suit jacket was tossed on the kitchen table, just missing the microscope sitting there. John’s jumper was dropped in front of the refrigerator.

The two men were panting by the time they reached the bed room. Within seconds, trousers and jeans were removed and John was being pushed down onto the bed in just his pants. Sherlock shadowed John across the bed. Crawling up over the prone man’s body. Sherlock’s eyes were dark and wide with silver-blue rims around blown pupils. The sight of Sherlock’s flushed skin and predatory stare made John shiver.

“Sherlock . . .” John gasped.

Sherlock caged John with his arms and knees. He leaned down and took command of John’s mouth again. John’s hand snaked up and around Sherlock neck, pulling the younger man down on to him. They kissed and allowed their hands to wonder over each other’s bodies. Sherlock kissed John’s neck before he moved up and breathed in the John’s ear.

“Will you let me have you tonight?” Sherlock voice was a deep rumble. It moved John like a blast wave of desire.

“Oh, God . . . yes!” John was shaking with need.

John wondered why he didn’t hesitate. Discuss it with Sherlock. He had never had penetrative sex with a man before, but he knew he didn’t want anything less with Sherlock. The idea of Sherlock being inside of him and surrounding him made John’s skin tingle. He pressed his hips up into Sherlock’s groin as he arched his back. To hell with talking. The time for talking had passed.

“Yes, Sherlock . . . please.”

“I promise I will make it good for you.” Sherlock whispered as he kissed the sensitive skin under John’s ear.

Sherlock’s own heart was beating so hard he could feel his chest ache with it. _To have John_. His greatest fantasy granted to him by the man he loved. Sherlock brought his fingers up and slowly slipped them down John’s face. Sherlock looked into John’s warm sapphire blue eyes and wished for nothing more than to be lost in them forever.

“Let me prepare you. I want to make sure you won’t feel anything but pleasure.” Sherlock said. His mouth dry from excitement.

Sherlock stretched across the other man’s body and reached for the drawer of his nightstand. He found the partially used tube of lube. He slammed the drawer shut so hard he knocked the lamp off the table. Neither man cared. Their focus being completely on each other and nothing else. Instead of immediately going to John’s entrance, Sherlock started elsewhere. With his fingers warm and slick, Sherlock slowly teased and massaged John’s cock and balls. Slowly pumping the blonde’s cock and twisting lightly over the head while he gently tugged on one then other ball.

John wanted to watch Sherlock but couldn’t withstand the intensity of Sherlock’s stare. John’s eyes slipped close as he moaned and twisted under Sherlock’s ministrations. John set his feet flat on the mattress, framing Sherlock’s hips as he thrust up into Sherlock’s hands. The dark haired man watched intently as John slowly came apart under his hands. Fascinated, Sherlock wondered how long he could draw this out. How much control could he have over the doctor? Could Sherlock hold John right on the razor’s edge while listening to the man beg to him? Did Sherlock have the willpower to withstand the temptation of watching John so debauched while refraining from his own release?

Sherlock was so entranced for a moment he forgot himself and squeezed John’s testicle just a bit too hard. Forcing the doctor to shout as he twisted his hips away from Sherlock.

“Sherlock . . . please . . .”

Brought back to himself, Sherlock smiled as he saw how flushed and needy the good doctor was. Sherlock drew a slick finger down and over John’s perineum. He rubbed slowly over the sensitive tissue, causing John to moan deeper.

“You should know John that I plan on making you so wanton that you will you never look at another woman again.” Sherlock leaned over and kissed the skin of the inside of John’s leg. His tongue dragged between the creases of John’s knee and licked the trace of salt away.

Sherlock circled the tight folds of John’s entrance. Taking his time, while Sherlock whispered filthy promises to John. Of how he was going to touch him while they were at a crime scene and no one but he would know that John would be hard and needed.

Slowly, Sherlock pressed his finger into John’s welcoming body. The blond groaned as pleasure flooded into his blood stream.

Sherlock’s dark velvet voice promised John that next time, he would ride John’s cock. He described how it would feel for John as Sherlock slowly descended onto John. The heat and tightness of Sherlock’s body wrapped around John’s.

“I promise . . . no more women . . . never . . . just you . . . only you . . .”

Smiling, Sherlock lifted John’s legs and placed them on his shoulders. Opening the other man up for more of Sherlock’s fingers. His other hand maintaining the slow and teasing stroke on John’s member. Sherlock’s longest finger slowly circled John’s prostate and lightly brushed over it. John shouted his name and started to babble.

“Sherlock . . . please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

With utmost care, Sherlock kept his fingers deep in John as he carefully slipped the condom onto himself. Sherlock removed his fingers and quickly placed his gland against John’s begging entrance.

“Look at me, John.” Sherlock was surprised by the control in his remarkably deep voice.

He fluttered his eyes open and stared up at his lover. John held his body still as he stared into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock slowly pressed forward. He watched as John accepted him for the first time. John’s hot channel opening up for him. The complete and enduring trust and need each man had for the other.

Sherlock didn’t stopped until he was completed seated in John’s body. His balls pressed to John’s bottom. Sherlock leaned forward and John’s hand reached for the man’s face. They pulled together and for the briefest moment just to share the air between them. Both men stared deeply into each other’s eyes, before John pulled Sherlock closer to kiss him.

As their lips were pressed together and their tongues caressed each other, Sherlock began to rock slowly in and out of John’s body. Shifting John’s hips up, Sherlock aimed right at John’s prostate. John arched his back as he grabbed Sherlock’s forearms.

“Sherlock . . . fuuuck.”

“Jawn . . .”

Sherlock sped up. The heat and tightness of John was breaking Sherlock’s control. The sound of John’s moans and sight of John face as his climax crashed over him, ignited an explosion inside Sherlock’s mind as the first wave of his own orgasm washed over him. His eyes slammed shut was white light burst behind closed lids.

Sherlock came back to himself finding himself collapsed on top of John. The blonde’s arms were protectively wrapped around Sherlock’s shivering body.

“Sherlock, you don’t need to worry.” John said softly into Sherlock’s damp curls.

“John?”

“I’m not interested in Mary.” John said with a half-smile to his voice.

“Good, she was lying.”


	19. What Happened to James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after James left Q at the airport in Surrey.

Bond’s debriefing from the Heidelberg mission was the morning after he arrived back into London. The meeting was in one of the various rooms available for debriefings within MI6. The room was lined with pale yellow noise damping insulation. There were no windows or mirrors. And the door was solid without any glass. It often reminded Bond of the inside of a honeycomb. There was a single table in the center of the room with chairs on opposite sides. Tanner always insisted on a stenographer to be present to take a written transcript of everything said but Bond never understood why. He was certain the meetings were be recorded also.

Bond handed the thumb drive over to Tanner as soon as they met for his debriefing. Tanner glanced at the thumb drive curiously but waited until Bond was finished before he asked any questions. Bond started with the bombing in Cologne and then went through everything that had happened up to the moment he stepped off the plane in Surrey. He only brushed over Q and his involvement. Stating the thumb drive was from Moran’s husband and that he traded it for his freedom. Bond kept the arrival of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson to himself. He decided to keep the Iceman’s involvement completely off the record.

When Bond was finished, Tanned looked down at the notes he had taken before asking any questions.

“Are you sure that both Moran and Moriarty are dead?”

“Yes. I killed Moran myself and have it from multiple sources that Moriarty died two years ago on a rooftop here in London.” Bond wanted to be vague so as to not drag Q or his family any deeper into the discussion.

“Sources trustworthy and dependable?”

“Yes.”

Tanner sighed and then went to the question he really wanted to ask.

“Where is Moran’s husband now?” Tanner asked watching Bond’s expression closely.

“With his family.” Bond answered calmly. He kept his face neutral but knew if anyone in MI6 could read his ‘tells’ it would Bill Tanner.

“His family? Did you meet them?” Tanner asked, lifting his eyebrows in question.

Bond didn’t say anything. He stared at Tanner for a moment wondering how much he could conceal from the man.

“He is safe now. It doesn’t matter who his family is or where he is.”

“You met his family.” It was a statement not a question.

“Yes.”

Tanner took a moment to close the folder that was in front of him. He glanced at the stenographer and said, “Sally, thank you. That will be all.”

The woman glanced up at the Chief of Staff then over at the Double ‘O’. Both men were staring at her with impenetrable expressions. She started to shut down her stenotype machine.

“Leave that.” Tanner said quickly. The woman glanced at him confused, then stood up and left the room. The door closing made of muffled sound with noise damping insulation. Tanner waited a moment for the tension of the room to settle. “Alright, tell me what you know about Sherrinford Holmes.”

Bond should have been surprised by Tanner’s question, but he wasn’t. Maybe Sherrinford’s existence was well known secret but he was the only one unaware of it. Maybe he had been sent after Moran to retrieve Sherrinford in the first place and this whole chase after a dead man was just a smoke screen. Suspicions grew and Bond was now unsure who to believe.

“Sherrinford Holmes was a name given to me by the young man who had been kidnapped from his family when he was fifteen years old. He has been held for fifteen years where he was brutalized and raped . . . repeatedly. He just wants to be left alone and I have promised him he would.”

“Is he Mycroft Holmes’ youngest brother?” Tanner asked as he leaned forward.

Bond studied Tanner’s face for a moment.

“Would it make a difference if he was?” Bond asked.

“Yes. We could use the fact we saved the Iceman’s baby brother for our advantage.” Tanner said.

“I think Q has been used enough . . . by everyone. Leave him alone with his parents. They missed their son and he lost so much already. Don’t take anything else.” Bond said.

Tanner was shocked to hear the concern in Bond’s voice. Tanner knew that Bond had a protective streak in him for people he was close too. Alec Trevelyan . . . the former M, but he had never known Bond to be overly protective of his marks. Tanner wondered how close Bond had gotten the enigmatic Sherrinford Holmes.

“A follow-up of the man would be advisable, don’t you think?” Tanner studied Bond’s expressions.

“He would not be willing to be interviewed. He won’t be manipulated anymore.”

“What about his family? Would they be willing to be interviewed?” Tanner was fishing to see if Bond really understood who the Holmes family was.

“I think you would have an easier time speaking to the Queen than you would in getting any cooperation out of Q’s family.”

“Q’s family?” Tanner jumped on the nickname.

Bond remained unemotional. “I preferred to not use the derogatory name Moran was calling him by. I wanted to gain his trust so I started to use another name that was not so . . . humiliating.” Bond explained.

Tanner listened carefully, but noticed the muscles twitch in Bond’s hand. It was evident the agent had issues with Moran’s treatment of the young Sherrinford and that Bond was also closer to the man than Tanner first realized. Bond would not assist MI6 in using the rescue of Mycroft Holmes’ brother against the Iceman.

“Thank you, 007. That will be all for now.” Tanner said as he started to shuffle the papers in front of him.

Bond stood and straightened his cuffs. “I wish to be assigned a new mission as soon as possible.”

“You haven’t even gone to Medical yet.” Tanner said looking up at the man.

“I wasn’t injured. I don’t need Medical.” Bond scowled.

“No, but there is a mandatory psych eval that you haven’t taken yet. And even if I had something on the board, there is the mandatory two week down time between extended missions. No, you’re staying put until further notice.” Tanner when back to organizing the file.

Bond stared down at the man. Neither M nor Tanner had never enforced the two week down time before. In fact, they had sometimes thrown the idea completely out the window when there was an emergency. Bond weighed his options and wondered if he could argue himself into a mission. Or maybe just leave town without telling anyone. It had been a while since he had checked on his estate in Scotland. Maybe now was the time to disappear for a while.

He turned on his heels and went to the door.

“And Bond, I expect you to stay in London. No unauthorized trips, please.” Tanner said without looking up.

_‘Damn the man’_ Bond thought as he opened the door. “Yes, sir.”

~Q~

Bond never went to Medical. He spent the next few days either working out at the gym in MI6 or sitting in the small office he shared with his best friend Alec. Alec was presently on a mission in Hong Kong and Bond was alone in the dull little office with its blank walls and two desks. Bond sat for hours just flicking paper clips using a rubber band or watching cat videos. For a brief moment he wondered how Q would appreciate him wasting his computer access with something so juvenile. He was sure he would get an eye roll from the young man. But it helped him avoid any more conversations with Tanner and duck any questions from Eve Moneypenny.

He pushed himself hard in the gym. Working on the weights or alternating with swimming until his shoulders ached. Some morning he ran around St. James’ and down Birdcage then went into Vauxhall late. Anything to keep from thinking about Q.

His evening he spent alone in his flat in Belgravia. He didn’t want to go out. He didn’t want company that was shallow and tedious. He just wanted to get over Q. To move on as the young man needed to.

It had been a week and a half since he stepped off the plane in Surrey. Ten days since he had seen Q last. He forced himself to not think of the young man. To not remember how smooth Q’s skin was under his fingertips. The scent in the young man’s hair or the taste of his lips.

But he would wake in the night and for the briefest of moments, James would reach for Q. Sweep his hand across cool sheets seeking the other’s hand. Bond would turn to whisper something to Q and find the pillow beside him empty. And for those few seconds until he regained his composure, he would feel Q’s absence sharply . . . painfully.

After ten days, Bond went to Tanner again requesting a mission. Tanner asked if Bond had scheduled his psych eval. Bond lied and said yes. Tanner told him to return after Tanner received the results. Bond stood for a moment to argue but instead left MI6 immediately and went to bar. He spent the rest of the day there.

It was late when Bond finally wandered home. The bartender had taken Bond’s car keys away from him and called a cab. As soon as he got out of the taxi he knew something was wrong. His flat was the entire first floor of a brownstone. The lights were on in the front sitting room.

Bond removed his gun from his shoulder holster and unlocked the front door. He slowly walked up the stairs to his flat. The door to his flat was closed but not locked. He quietly opened the door but remained outside the room. He listened. There was soft jazz playing in the background. It took a moment but Bond realized it was his own stereo playing.

He moved slowly into the foyer and through the narrow hallway to the front sitting room. He paused in the shadows where he couldn’t be seen. He listened. There was a soft tapping. Fast but uneven. Starting and stopping.

“Are you going to come in?”

The accent was public school posh and James had heard it in his dreams for the past ten days. He sighed and stepped around the corner. Q was sitting on James’ leather couch. A laptop resting the crook of his bent knee. His typing making the soft tapping that James had heard earlier.

“I hope you don’t mind . . . I got tired of waiting. You have a nice selection of music.” Q said. His eyes moved from the computer screen up to James’ face.

“I could have shot you.” James said as he slipped his Walther back into his holster.

“I doubt it.” Q replied simply.

Bond glanced around his flat quickly. He wanted to be sure that they are alone. He returned to the door of his flat and closed and locked it this time. He glanced over at the security system and noticed that it had been skillfully deactivated. Q must have guessed his passcode because it didn’t appear the unit has been damaged.

Bond walked back into the living room and Q is still typing on the computer.

“Been here long?”

“Long enough.” Q answered.

“Have you eaten?” Bond didn’t know why he is being so civil. He wanted to grab the young man and ravage him.

“No, not really hungry. You?”

“No,” James said as he moves to sit down in the leather chair. “What are you doing here, Q?”

James noticed a small smile come to the young man’s lips at the mention of his nickname. It seemed to spark something within Bond, too.

“I was disappointed in you.” Q hesitated in his typing, then continues as if nothing dire had been said.

“Oh, how so?”

Q finally looked up at Bond. He closed his laptop and carefully set it on the coffee table.

“I thought you were more fearless than to be frightened away by my family.” Said Q.

“You think your elderly parents scared me away?” James lifted an eyebrow.

“Not my parents obviously . . . although they can be a bit overwhelming.” Q shuddered dramatically. “No, my two brothers.”

“Hardly. I didn’t find either one of them very . . . intimidating.”

“You should. Mycroft is the most dangerous man in England.” Q studied Bond’s face for little bit longer, then pulled his knees up to his chest. Hugging them like a child trying to hide. “Then it was me you wanted to avoid. Sorry . . . My mistake. I’m a fool for . . .”

“Don’t Q. That is not the reason either.” James said softly. “I thought you would not want to see someone that would remind you . . .”

“There you go again. Treating me like a victim again.” Q huffed as he cut James off.

“You can’t ignore it.”

“And you said I shouldn’t let it define me either. So tell me, James, what will it take for you to follow your own advice?”

James sat staring at the young man. So many conflicting impulses were running through the man. He wanted to help Q heal, but he also wanted to grab the young man and hold him captive too. To come to bed every night to find the intriguing remarkable man there waiting for him. To learn everything he could about Q. How much he could do with his computer? What could Q design? How the dark haired man would look in the moonlight, naked and stretched out underneath him?

Bond could feel his treacherous body responding. Bond knew he had drunk too much alcohol to trust his instincts. His own selfish desires were winning out over common sense. James licked his lips, wishing he could still taste Q’s kiss there. His fingers twitched wanting to reach out and drag through Q’s curls again.

“Q, it is not good for you to be here.” James said. His voice was deep and dark.

“Why, James?”

“Because I want you.” He watched as a sudden blush pinked Q’s cheek bones.

Q pushed his knees down from his chest.

“And that’s not good because?”

“Because if I have you now, I may not let you go in the morning. I may want to keep you with me and I don’t want to be like Moran.”

Q glanced around the room before he returned his glance towards James.

“I never wanted Sebastian to touch me. I didn’t want him to kiss me but . . . I want you, James.”

Suddenly, James couldn’t come up with a single reason why to avoid taking Q to his bed.

~Q~

The room was warm. They had stumbled into the bed after pulling the clothes off each other. James’ hands moved over Q’s skin. Touching and petting. Reassuring himself that the young man was actually there with him and James wasn’t just letting the alcohol convince him Q was there. Q whined when he tasted the scotch on James’ tongue when they kissed. He licked and smeared his tongue throughout James’ mouth, until the taste was gone and only James’ remained.

James pulled Q down onto the bed beside him. His mouth mapping out the soft curves and the sharp angles of Q’s body. The feel of the skin pebbling around Q’s nipples as James’ teeth worried the nub there. Smelling musky scent of Q’s body the lower James went. All of his sense clouded James’ brain more than the liquor. He wanted to climb into Q. Devour him and live within his aura. His kisses grew hungry.

When James heard a soft cry from Q, he leaned back to realize his hand had been pulling on Q’s hair while he kissed the young man. His finger were so tightly wound in Q’s curls it had to be painful. James fought his own possessiveness to release Q’s hair and slowly scratch as the stinging scalp. Q hummed and returned the kisses.

James reached around Q’s body and rolled the two of them. He situated the younger man to lay on top of him. Their bodies lined up perfectly. Q’s talented fingers skimmed over James’ face like a blind man learning another’s countenance. As soon as his fingers left a patch of skin, Q’s lips moved there to warm it. Gentle kisses and caresses.

James’ hands moved down Q’s back. Over the long smooth muscles just under the satin skin. The round of each vertebrae and dip of his lower back. Finally his hands rested on the curved swell of Q’s bottom. The firm plumb flesh cupped in his hands as he began to massage it. Q moaned again into James’ mouth as he circled his hips, finally rubbing his hard length into James’ body.

“Lube?” Q whispered.

“In the drawer . . . in the nightstand.” James couldn’t make complete sentences. His mind was quickly disconnecting as he felt the young man shift to bring each of the ‘man-hoods’ in contact.

It had been years since someone affected James like this. Decades. He tried to remember the last time a partner so captivated him, that he had to let them lead because he was unable to take the dominate role. Maybe when he was a teenager. Maybe his first time. He couldn’t remember. He had always been in control of his sexual encounters. He needed to be. But with the young man now twisting and moving above him, James found himself following instead of leading. And it felt good.

James’ hands kept stroking over Q’s warm skin as the young man prepared himself. He watched as Q slipped the condom on James’ hard cock. The look in Q’s face as his pushed up on his knees and positioned himself over James’ hips and then slowly lowered himself. The sensation of heat and velvet as he entered Q’s body.

James had to fight to keep his eyes open. He needed to watch Q. He needed to Q. To see the young man descend and open up to him. The play of light across Q’s eyes. But the feeling of slipping deeper into Q’s body was excruciatingly pleasure. Q was tight and hot. Even through the latex, James could imagine the velvet texture. James groaned loudly as Q finally rested on his lap. Completely seated.

“Q . . .” The sound came out with James’ breath.

“My terms.” Q whispered. “My choice.”

“Anything . . . everything you want, my love.” James didn’t know he had used the term but something shifted inside Q’s demeanor.

He leaned forward and cupped James’ face. He stared deeply into James’ eyes before he leaned forward for one more, deep kiss.

The two men moved together in perfect rhythm. Touching and holding even as they rocked. James’ fingers grasping and pulling Q taut to him, leaving bruises on pale flesh. Q sucking kisses on James’ neck and shoulders, leaving his own mark of ownership. The climax was secondary to the climb. The need for each other. The moment of being together.

When it was over, they curled into each other’s body. Sharing warmth and the occasional kiss. And as sleep overtook them, neither one spent too much time worrying about Q’s whispered, “I love you, too.”


	20. A Debt to be Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two nemesis return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been told that parts of this chapter are dark and disturbing. I have to agree. Please read warily, especially the part between Q and his mother.

The morgue was normally on the cool side but today it was downright frigid. The scent of bleach and blood tinted the air around Sherlock, John and Mycroft. John glanced down at the three bodies, laid out on the individual gurneys. The black body bags were unzipped and the cadaver faces were exposed. The men had been dead for several days and although they had been refrigerated, decomposition had begun. The skin had taken on a darker tint than normal living tissue. The fluids of decomposition known as purge was oozing from the noses. The dead men’s eyes were sunken in because the vitreous fluid had been removed for testing. Their lips were pulled back from dry mouths showing stained teeth.

All three men had been autopsied. The ‘Y’ incision on their chests sewn closed with thick waxed thread. Sherlock opened one of the bags further and pulled out the hand of the deceased. The fingertips black with ink.

“What did the fingerprints tell you?” Sherlock asked.

“Quite a great deal.” Mycroft said as he rocked gently on his heels. His face impassive and unreadable.

“Such as?” Sherlock sneered at his brother’s vagueness.

“They were members of a freelance taskforce known as ARGA. The title formed by the first letter of each of the members’ first names. Ajay Dhawan, Gary Colbourn, and Andrew Todd.” Mycroft pointed to each body he as recited their name.

“That’s only three. Who was the ‘R’? Who was the fourth member?” John asked.

“Rosamund Moriston.” Mycroft says.

Sherlock stood up straight and stared at this brother. “Moriston?”

“Yes. I thought the name would be familiar to you.”

John watched the two brothers who just share a silent moment. Sherlock shrugged slightly and returned back to the body he was examining.

“What is so significant about Moriston?” John asked.

“You’ve met her, John. We believe she might have been who took a shot at you two weeks ago.”

“I met her?” John asked confused.

“Mary Moriston.” Sherlock said from his hunched over position. He pulled out his magnifying glass and was examining the dead man’s wrists.

“Mary Moriston? She came to the flat asking us to find her missing sister. You said she was lying.” John glanced over at Sherlock.

“She was. She claimed to be close to her sister but didn’t know any of her friends. She said her sister had taken photos in war zones but didn’t think any would cause someone to harm her. She could tell us what her sister was wearing but didn’t describe how she looked or brought us a photo of her. She was obviously lying about a missing sister. The woman was anxious to get us away from the flat and the only witness . . . Mrs. Hudson. When she couldn’t get both of us away, she tried to convince you to go with her.”

“Oh . . .” John remembered the conversation with the woman on the pavement in front of 221. “She asked me to go have a drink with her.”

“She wanted to get you alone. At the time I thought she was just some rabid fan, but obviously she had a more sinister purpose to get you alone.” Sherlock held John’s attention with a blunt stare, then he turned back to his brother. “Why do you think she was the one who shot at John?”

“Ajay Dhawan was arrested just outside of the New Scotland Yard building, the day of the shooting. He was carrying a gun. He apparently committed suicide while in custody. Hanging. Gary Colbourn was killed in a minor traffic accident. He was crossing the street in front of 221 Baker Street and was hit by a passing taxi. Completely his fault. He stepped right out in front of the taxi. Mrs. Hudson, who had just returned from shopping and slowed down by her bags witnessed the incident. Andrew Todd was shot while resisting arrest at a safe house he was sharing with Dhawan and Colbourn.” Mycroft said.

Sherlock stood up and walked around the three bodies, looking down at them as he passed.

“So Moran ordered A.G.A.R. to kill John, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade after I came back. They failed, and all but one has been stopped. Why would Moriston plan on finishing the job?”

Mycroft shrugged. “Professional pride? She hopes to still collect on the payment? Who knows, but it is evident that, since she contacted you on your return from Germany, she is still planning on killing you, John.”

“What about Mrs. Hudson or Greg?” John asked looking concerned.

“I am making arrangements to insure their safety as we speak. I will be moving Mrs. Hudson to a safe location as soon as I can speak to her.” Mycroft said.

Sherlock smiled and removed his latex gloves. “Good luck with that, Mycroft. England would sooner fall than Mrs. Hudson run and hide. No, we will go back to Baker Street within the hour. We will watch over her.”

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes. “Obviously, the two of you will have to be taken into protective custody until Moriston is found.” He tapped his umbrella lightly on the vinyl tiles.

John cleared his throat.

“Not bloody likely. No, I’m not going anywhere with you.” John huffed out. John balled his fists before crossing his arms over his chest, angrily.

Mycroft watched the smaller man carefully. Mycroft’s nose still hurt and although he would deny it, he was still using concealer to cover the bruises under his eyes. He had no intentions of trying to push John Watson somewhere the shorter man didn’t want to go.

~Q~

The Aston Martin pulled up beside the gate for the front garden of the house. The Holmes’ house was near Bushey Heath. The old converted farm house was white daub with dark green shutters. The roof was weathered grey slate. Grey green moss clung to the stones and a bird’s nest was visible nestled in the eaves. The hedges had grown tall and thick and was pushing through the wooden fence. Birch and willow trees grew around the two story home giving it an enchanted cottage image.

James and Q got out of the car and paused looking up at the house. The older man could feel the hesitation in younger man’s attitude. Q’s eyes scanned over the house carefully. Categorizing all the changes in it from fifteen years ago.

“Are you ready?” James asked.

“No.” Q said sharply.

“I’m sure they are terrified after you didn’t come home yesterday or even called them.”

“I know. But I felt so overwhelmed by them. They insist on hovering.” Q complained.

“You can’t really blame them, Q. They lost you once. They’re terrified it will happen again.” James said.

“Yes . . . it’s just difficult. I know they mean well, but I can’t stand people always watching me. I mean . . . before I had to just take whatever was happening . . . I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t stop Moriarty staring at me. But now, they make me feel guilty too, if I stand up and walk away. I feel like I’m . . . escaping again. I can’t just ask for time by myself.”

James reached over and cupped Q’s face. “It’s alright to just walk away. It’s okay to ask everyone . . . even me, to leave you alone.”

Q smiled at the other man. “I really don’t want to ask that of you . . . just yet.” Q looked back at the house. “But it is time to face the music. Maybe introducing you to them will divert the onslaught of questions about where I’ve been for the past eighteen hours.”

“You promise they are not like your brothers?” James looked sideways at the very unassuming house.

“Completely. Be prepared for . . . normalcy.” Q’s smile weakly.

“As if a Holmes would know what normal is.” James teased.

James opened the latch on the iron gate. It groaned and swung open, allowing the two men to enter the slightly overgrown front garden. The grass, tall and needed mowing. The bushes near the door needed trimming and tending too, but unkemptness of the garden added to the friendliness of the old farmhouse.

Q knocked on the door and waited. There was no answer. Hesitantly he reached for the doorknob and it turned easily in his hand. Q sighed and opened the green painted door.

“They always forget to lock it.” Q said as he stepped into the house followed by James.

The operative looked around the front room. It was a quaint and inviting room. Dark wood aged by time and use, accented the yellow plaster walls. Worn wool rugs covered flag stone floors. Comfortable looking chairs and sofa were positioned in front of a river stone fireplace. There were bookcases on every wall. Reading lamps sat on tables near every seat. It was a room for evening reading, either alone or with others.

“Mum . . . Dad?” Q called out. There was no response.

Q didn’t hesitate in the room. He kept walking through the door into another room with a large dining table in the center of it. Eight miss-matched chairs were placed around the oak table. There was a sideboard against one wall that Bond thought matched the table but not the chairs. A large pewter bowl filled with dark red apples sat on the sideboard. The scent of them filling the room.

Q walked around the table and headed to another door in the room.

“Mum . . . Dad, it’s me.” He called out again.

James was right behind Q when they stepped into the kitchen. It too was bright and open with large windows that look out onto a back garden.

Q took two steps into the room then stopped. He stopped so suddenly that James barely caught himself in time to avoid crashing into the younger man.

James glanced over his shoulder and quickly took in the scene in front of them. The grey haired woman James had seen when they arrived back in England, was sitting in a chair beside the table. Her hands were taped together and sitting in her lap. Another piece of black tape was over her mouth. Her violet eyes were wide with fear. She had been crying and a red bruise was blooming on the left side of her face.

On the floor at her feet was the elderly man that James had been told was Q’s father. His limbs crumbled up as he curled around the woman’s feet. The man was unconscious. Dark red blood smeared his grey hair.

“MUM!” Q shouted. He took two rushing steps forward when he was stopped by James.

James’ right hand reached for gun secured in his shoulder holster. His left hand grabbed Q’s elbow and pulled the younger man back.

“You don’t want to use that.” Came the voice from the corner of the room.

Both men noticed Archie Sutcliff. He stood in the corner holding a nickel plated .45 caliber automatic. The gun was pointed at Violet Holmes’ head. Sutcliff was wearing his usual black turtle-neck jumper. A leather shoulder holster was visible over the black fabric. The left side of Sutcliff’s face seemed to sag slightly and his left eyelid drooped.

“Welcome home, Pup.” Sutcliff said through clinched teeth. James and Q could see the wires holding the man’s jaw together.

~Q~

The door of the morgue opened and Molly Hooper quickly came in. Her arms burdened with hospital records that Sherlock had requested. She glanced up to see Mycroft Holmes standing there with Sherlock and John. She had only seen the man occasionally and always feared him. He was like a specter of foreboding malevolence. Not that she considered the man evil himself, just that he brought it with him.

“Oh, Mister Holmes . . . I didn’t know you were visiting Sherlock.” Molly ducked her head and stepped over to Sherlock. “Here are the files you requested. Although I don’t see the connection between one mugging, a heart attack, and a suicide other than all three men were ginger.”

“I’m positive they are all murders and committed by one man. Vincent Spaulding.” Sherlock turned away from the three dead assassins and reached for the files Molly was holding.

“Sherlock . . . you need to convince John that the two of you should accompany me.” Mycroft said superiorly.

“You are boring us, Mycroft. Scamper away. I’m sure there is a war somewhere you can start.” Sherlock said while his attention was fixed on the files Molly had brought him.

Mycroft glanced over at John who was still glaring at him. Mycroft noticed Molly Hooper taking a fleeting peek at him before quickly turning away. The older Holmes sighed heavily and tapped his umbrella on the tiles one more time.

“You know if you need me . . .”

“Yes, yes . . . you will always be there. Now, leave.” Sherlock cut his brother off.

Mycroft didn’t hesitate. He turned and quickly walked out of the morgue. His Italian leather shoes only whispering on the vinyl tiles. Anger blooming within him. Anger not at Sherlock or John, but at himself. He knew everyone had a reason for disregarding him. It had been a central concern for as long as he could remember that he needed to protect his family. Mycroft had felt disjointed and ineffectual since the knowledge of Sherrinford’s survival had come to light. He felt he had been inadequate in helping his younger brothers and ensuring their safety, which truly was paramount to him.

Mycroft Holmes refused to say the words but he felt like a failure.

He might not be the ‘British Government’ as Sherlock teased him, but he was still a powerful man. He had skills not only in diplomacy but also in security. He was responsible for protecting the nation. Mycroft treated other countries and leaders as tokens in a game. Pieces on a giant chess board. He had sent individuals to their deaths while saving the lives of thousands of others. He could be ruthless and pragmatic, but he was also a son and a brother. And the most important thing in his life was his family and he had failed them. Not once, or twice . . . but repeatedly. The knowledge of that failure burned a hollow spot within him.

Mycroft walked away from the double doors of the morgue. He forced himself to compose. He needed to maintain his aloof façade. Especially, in front of his assistant. He glanced up at the woman as she stood next to the doors of the lift. He wondered for a moment what name she had chosen to go by today. Anthea, Andrea, Arianna? Or had she decided to move on to the ‘B’s.

The doors of the lift opened and a small woman stepped out wearing hospital scrubs. Her hair was hidden under a black hijab. She had a long sleeve shirt on under her blue scrub top. Her face was pale and her eyes a bright blue. As she walked passed Mycroft, he smiled politely at her. She didn’t acknowledge his smile. He noticed the sweet scent of her perfume. Claire de Loon slipped into his mind as he identified the aroma.

He followed his assistant into the lift and pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Sir, you have a meeting in twenty minutes with the trade delegation from Thailand. And the PM is expecting a phone call from you regarding the Russian spy and his daughter.”

Mycroft listened to his assistant as the doors closed on the lift. Just as the doors shut he saw the small nurse turn and enter the morgue.

~Q~

“Welcome home, Pup.” Sutcliff’s voice was muffled. His lips moved but his teeth were tightly wired shut.

“Don’t call me that.” Q started shaking with anger.

“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please, whore.” Sutcliff said as he stepped forward and right behind Q’s mother. “I’ve been looking for you, Pup. You are a valuable commodity. I’ve got the bidding up to £750,000 for you now. I don’t know why but a lot of people want to buy your pretty little ass.”

Q’s attention was fixed on Sutcliff’s gun that was aimed at his mother’s head. He couldn’t look into his mother’s face . . . her crying eyes.

“Bond, slowly take that gun out and toss it onto the table.” Sutcliff said as he waved his hand for Bond to move away from Q. As soon as they were separated, Sutcliff pointed the gun at Bond. Bond removed the handgun from its holster and carefully tossed it onto the wooden table. The sound of is hitting the table top made Violet Holmes jump. A stifled whine came out from under the tape covering her mouth.

Bond moved further away from Q and went to stand beside the sink with the large bank of windows behind him. Q was standing near the stove. The smell of his mother’s cooking filling the kitchen with the scent of spicy apples. Q glanced down and saw the pan with cooking jelly. The liquid just beginning to boil in the heavy pot. The rowan berries swirling in the mixture.

Q glanced back at Sutcliff. “If you’re just interested in me, then leave my parents alone.” Q said trying to control his anger and fear.

Sutcliff smiled. “I think mummy and daddy should know what is going to happen to their little pup.”

“No . . . don’t tell them!” Q shouted.

“Oh, is little puppy ashamed of being such an eager little whore.”

“I said to stop calling me that.” Q yelled at the man.

Sutcliff laughed. “You can’t imagine how many people were interested in buying Moriarty’s personal sex toy. They remember you, Pup. They remember how much Moriarty bragged about you. How good you were at giving head.”

Q glanced at his mother and saw the confusion and fear in her eyes. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she listened to Sutcliff talk.

“There are several who want you on your knees again.” Sutcliff continued. “But then when I told them that you knew everything there was to know about Moran and his network . . . well just image how quickly your price went up.”

Q glanced at his mother then over at James. Violet looked like she was going to be sick. Bond was emotionless. Sutcliff saw the shift in Q and sneered.

“Oh, didn’t you tell your mother about what you did to get by when you were away?” Sutcliff asked in feigned innocence. “She doesn’t know how you got down on all fours and let anyone fuck you who wanted too?”

Q saw the pain and turmoil in his mother’s face.

“Shut up! You know that is not what happened!” Q shouted.

While he shifting his attention between Q and Bond, Sutcliff leaned over Mrs. Holmes’ shoulder and spoke right into her ear.

“You’re darling son became the best little slut for my boss. He sucked cock every day until he became addicted to the taste cum.” He stood up and stepped back laughing.

Violet Holmes was shaking as she cried. She shook and bowed her head and Q could hear her openly weep.

“You bastard!” Q shouted. “He raped me. He raped me and you watched, you sick son of a bitch!”

Q grabbed the pot of boiling jelly. He threw it, pot and all, at Sutcliff’s head. Sutcliff ducked but the syrup still spattered across his face. The melted sugar and cooked fruit clung to the side of his face and burned his skin. Sutcliff shrieked in pain and anger. His lips pulled back from his wired teeth. His neck muscles taut as he screamed while unable to open his jaw. He reached up to wipe the scalding mess from his face. It only smeared it and burned more of his cheek and neck.

Bond saw an opportunity and took it. He launched himself over the table and tackled Sutcliff. The two men crashed to the floor. Sutcliff was able to hang onto the handgun and swung it at Bond’s head. Bond ducked but was still hit. He caught the barrel of gun smacking into his ear. Pain radiated out from the strike and for a moment he was dazed. Sutcliff kicked out and hit Bond in the lower leg. The agent’s legs were knocked out from underneath him. Bond tried to roll away but became tangled in the legs of Violet’s chair.

Bond twisted and looked up to see Sutcliff standing over him. His face already red with blisters forming under the smear of apple jelly. In his hand was his gun, pointed directly at Bond’s head. The smell of burnt sugar filled the room.

“I’ve been waiting to do this.” Sutcliff said as he aimed the gun carefully at James.

The gunshot was loud. It was deafening in the kitchen. Violet Holmes screamed behind her tape gag. Bond waited for the sensation of pain from the bullet, but felt nothing. It took him a moment to realize he was not the one who was shot.

Sutcliff dropped his gun onto the stone floor and fell forward. Bond rolled out of the way before the man landed on him. Behind him stood Q. He was shaking while his two hands were holding James’ gun.

Slowly, James rose to his feet and took the Walther from Q’s grip. The young man was beginning to shake violently. James wrapped his arms around the young man and pulled him tightly against his body.

“It’s over. He’s gone.” James whispered.

“You don’t know how many times I wanted to do that.” Q voice broke as he spoke.

“It’s done. He can’t ever hurt you again.”

Q looked carefully into James’ eyes. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Q and James quickly untied Violet Holmes. She called Mycroft while James and Q checked on Q’s father. The older man was still unconscious but his breathing was strong and deep. Q sighed and sat down on the floor.

“What now?” Q asked looking at James.

“Anything you want. You’re free from all of it.”

“And if I still want to see you?” Q felt apprehensive.

“I’m not going anywhere this week.”

“And next week?”

“I would like to make an offer to you. Have you ever thought of a career in espionage?”

~Q~

Molly glanced up as she noticed the nurse wearing the hijab walk into the morgue.

“Can I help you?” Molly asked pleasantly.

The nurse smiled back at Molly then pulled out at 9mm handgun with a silencer attached. She pointed it directly at Molly and pulled the trigger.

Sherlock had seen the woman as soon as she entered. He saw the gun and he was moving. He pushed Molly out of the way just as the woman pulled the trigger. The bullet tore into Sherlock’s left shoulder. Twisting his body back away from Molly. The pain was excruciating. He groaned and fell backwards onto the hard tile floor.

Molly was shoved to the ground and out of the way. The sound of the gun firing cover her surprised yelp. John saw Sherlock falling and moved quickly to rescue Sherlock. He didn’t even see the nurse until after she had fired the gun.

“Who are you?!” John shouted at the woman as he cradled Sherlock in his arms. His palm pressed tightly over the wound in Sherlock’s shoulder. The blood seeping between his fingers.

“John . . . don’t be obtuse.” Sherlock said as he groaned. He shifted his weight so he was resting more comfortably in John’s arms. “Rosamund Moriston, I presume.”

“Very good, Mister Holmes.” The small woman said. “Now, I was planning on taking you somewhere else to finish my assignment but you interfered with my plans.”

“You will never know how sorry I am to have done so. Although, I couldn’t let you shoot my pathologist. Finding a cooperative one is so very difficult.” Sherlock said.

Molly was still sitting on the floor glancing between the woman with the gun and Sherlock.

“Sherlock . . . ?” Molly whispered.

“Molly, just stay still. Don’t do anything . . . stupid.” Sherlock said as calmly as he could.

“You’re bleeding.” Molly whispered.

“Obviously. Now do be quiet.”

John was concentrating on Sherlock’s injury and hadn’t looked at the woman yet. “Sherlock, I need to get you up to Trauma.”

“I don’t believe Miss Moriston will permit that.” Sherlock said.

He noticed the door open behind Moriston and the shape of the man enter into the morgue. Sherlock kept his eyes focused on the assassin and tried to not let her know Mycroft was walking up behind her.

“Very good, Mister Holmes. Yes. I guess I will have to complete my contract here, but could there really be a better place to die than in a morgue?”

“Yes!” John shouted. “My own bed forty years from now!”

“Moran paid me and my team to kill you John. Just you.” Moriston informed the doctor calmly.

John glanced up at her. He saw Mycroft too but forced himself to not react.

“Just me? But Greg and Mrs. Hudson?”

“We knew that Moriarty wanted all three of you killed if Sherlock Holmes didn’t take his own life. We were just fulfilling a previous request. It only seemed fair.”

“Fair?! Are you kidding me?! You must be bloody insane!”

“John, don’t antagonize the woman with the gun.” Sherlock’s voice was getting raspy.

Sherlock watched as Mycroft stepped closer to Moriston. His ubiquitous umbrella in his hand. Sherlock forced himself to be indifferent at his brother arriving to help without a better weapon than a brolly.

“Moran is dead.” John said hoping the information would deter the killer.

“Yes, I know. But we still have a contract to fulfill and a reputation to maintain.” Moriston said. “As well as my own personal reasons.” The small woman waved her hand over to the three bodies still laying on the gurneys. “We were more than a team, we were family.”

“We didn’t kill them.” John said.

Sherlock watched as his brother lifted his umbrella up with his right hand. Mycroft’s left grasped the fabric end of the umbrella and gave it a sudden twist. The top half of the umbrella separated from its handle.

 _‘Clever, boy’_ Sherlock thought.

“No, you didn’t . . .” Moriston said.

“But we are still responsible for their demise. Good to know one of our final acts on this planet was to rid it of four repugnant killers.” Said Sherlock.

The smile slipped from Moriston’s face. She hardened her stare and raised the gun to point it directly at Sherlock.

“What happened to ‘ _don’t antagonize the woman with the gun’?”_ John whispered to Sherlock.

“I will take it as quite a success that you will no longer be of any concern for MI6 or any other law abiding organization.” Sherlock pronounced. He was feeling light headed and wished Mycroft would get to it.

Moriston frowned and aimed her gun. “You’re a fool, Mister Holmes. And you can’t count. My three partners are dead but I’m still alive.”

“For the time being.” Mycroft said. “Do not move if you wish to remain that way. My team is entering the building at this very moment. You have absolutely no possibility of escape.”

Mycroft was within five feet of Rosamund Moriston. The handgun that was concealed in the handle of his umbrella was pointed directly at the woman’s head.

Moriston glanced over her shoulder and saw the dark round barrel pointed at her. At that distance there was no feasible way he could miss her.

“Gun on the ground . . . carefully and then kick it over into the corner away from all of us.” Mycroft instructed her.

Moriston did what she was told. She squatted down and placed the Ruger on the tile floor. She stood back up and then carefully kicked it. It clattered across the floor and came to rest in the corner next to the hazardous waste bens.

“John, you should get Sherlock to the Trauma department now.” Mycroft said.

“How did you know?” Sherlock asked staring at his brother.

“Her perfume.” Mycroft said.

Molly was already on her feet. She rushed over to one of the gurneys that the dead men were lying on. She grabbed the edge of the body bag and lifted it up, flipping the man and bag off the table. The dead body crashed to the floor in the crumpled mess.

“Her perfume? That was very observant of you, Mister Holmes. Amazing.” Molly said as she pushed the gurney over to Sherlock and John who were slowly standing up. “You are quite clever.”

“Thank you, Doctor Hooper.” Mycroft preened. He finally understood how Sherlock was drawn to John. Compliments were very enticing especially when given to him by such a lovely person.

“Perfume?” John asked confused as he supported Sherlock on his shoulder.

“Hospital dress code prohibits nursing staff from wearing perfumes or aftershave in case the patients have a sensitivity to them.” Sherlock explained as Molly locked the wheels on the gurney for Sherlock to get on. “Molly, I do not need a . . .”

“Shut up, Sherlock and get on the damn gurney or else!” Molly shouted at Sherlock.

Sherlock and John stood stunned looking at the petite woman. Molly slapped her hand down on the table and glared at the two men. Sherlock and John moved quickly and John helped Sherlock up onto the table. Once he was laying down, John and Molly started to rush the man out of the room. Molly glanced up at Mycroft Holmes one more time before she left. The man was smiling at her. An open and appreciative smile. She smiled back.

She and John pushed the gurney out of the room as Anthea entered with half a dozen armed response officers. Their weapons leveled and ready to fire. Rosamund Moriston just rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Sir?” Anthea looked questioningly at her employer.

“Yes, please take Miss Moriston into custody. I believe that Anderson over a MI6 would like to have a conversation with her.

“Yes, sir.” Anthea waved her hand towards the woman dressed in hospital scrubs.

“Until next time, Mister Holmes.” Moriston said.

“I doubt there will be a next time.” Mycroft replied.

“You never know.” She smiled as handcuffs were placed on her wrists.

Mycroft and Anthea stood and watched as the woman was led away.

“That Doctor Hooper seems to be quite remarkable.” Mycroft hummed.

“Who, sir?” Anthea looked up from her Blackberry.

“Molly Hooper. Intelligent, resourceful, and able to get Sherlock to obey her. Yes, quite remarkable. We may need to keep an eye on her.” Mycroft smiled. He was beginning to feel useful again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FF_fan recommend that I have an epilog to this story. That is why there will be one more chapter but not as harrowing. Thank you all for the wonderful comments and suggestions. As always it is wonderful to know others are enjoying my stories as much as I am in writing them.


	21. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that is the end. I hope you enjoyed the ending. It was recommended by ff_fan. Until next time my friends. Thank you all for joining me on this story.

It had been six months since that day in the morgue. Sherlock’s shoulder still ached but he never mentioned it to John. Sherlock had to deal with John hovering over him after the surgery to remove the bullet and the subsequent physical therapy that John insisted on for Sherlock’s recovery. John even demanded that Sherlock go and speak to John’s therapist, Ella. Grudgingly, Sherlock did and agreed with Mycroft that the woman had everything backwards.

Sherlock was sitting in his leather chair. His fingertips poised under his chin as he roamed his ‘Mind Palace’. He was barefoot but wearing his pajama bottoms and his dark silk dressing gown. He was also wearing one of John’s RAMC shirts. The soldier’s scent was woven into the cotton fabric.

Sherlock blinked his eyes and came back to himself in the present. John was doing the washing up of the breakfast dishes. He was humming as he washed Sherlock’s mug. John was also barefoot but he was wearing his boxers and a t-shirt. Sherlock watched his lover for a few brief moments. The domesticity of the scene would have been frightening to the detective if it wasn’t so welcoming. It caused a tingling feeling deep in Sherlock’s chest.

John glanced over and noticed he was being watched. John smiled as he dried his hands and walked over to Sherlock. He bent over and lightly kissed the corner of Sherlock’s mouth.

“How’s your shoulder today?”

“I have already explained to you on numerous occasions that it is completely healed.” Sherlock huffed.

“It may be healed but I know from experience it can still hurt long after it is healed.” John kissed Sherlock again.

The blonde turned and walked towards their bedroom.

The thought of ‘ _their bedroom_ ’ always caused a blush to come to John’s tanned cheeks. He never realized how important two little words could be. So simple and so innocuous, but having so much greater weight than just a designation of a space. ‘ _Theirs_ ’. Together, a team, a partnership, belong to one another. It meant more to John than he could ever have imagined. He wondered if it meant the same to Sherlock as it did to him. John wanted to believe it did, but he couldn’t imagine Sherlock being as besotted with him as John was with the aloof detective.

Sherlock watched as John walked towards their bedroom. There was a sway in John’s steps. John was happy. He was more than happy, he was ecstatic. Sherlock quickly ran through the various reasons John would be happy enough to actually dance slightly as he walked. The last case was boring. In fact quite boring and Sherlock wasn’t sure how he got talked into doing it. Mrs. Hudson had been visiting her sister for the past four days and would be returning tomorrow. But Sherlock didn’t believe John missed watching crap TV with their landlady that much. John’s sister was back in rehab but it was obvious that it wouldn’t take this time either. Sherlock’s shoulder was practically back to normal and his full strength was returning, but that couldn’t be the reason either.

The only thing that Sherlock could think of that would make John so happy was the one thing he couldn’t believe was the reason. Himself. Sherlock made John happy. The tingle in chest grew.

The knock on the door pulled Sherlock out of his musings. The detective looked up and saw his brother standing in the door way. Mycroft must have just come from a meeting with the prime minister. He was wearing is brown three piece suit with the royal blue tie. His starched white shirt seemed to be rubbing his neck. There was a slight red mark just at the edge of the collar.

“Good morning, Sherlock.” Mycroft said as he entered the sitting room and sat down in John’s chair.

Sherlock frowned and crossed his long legs.

“What broomstick did you fly in on?” Sherlock growled. Mycroft laughed softly.

“Petulant as ever. I’ve come to remind you of the gathering a Mummy’s this weekend. She specifically requested you be there.”

“I have a case.”

“No you do not. I checked.” Mycroft frowned.

“I will have one by Friday.” Sherlock pouted.

“I sincerely doubt that. I have spoken to John and he has agreed to keep your little diversions in check.”

Sherlock scowled at his brother. Mycroft continued.

“Mummy wants us all together for her official ‘Welcome Home’ party for Sherrinford.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Surely she knows that Sherrinford doesn’t want a party.”

“He may not want one, but our mother does and . . .”

“What she want she gets.” Both brothers said simultaneously.

Sherlock uncrossed his legs dramatically and stood up. He propelled himself across the room to look out the window and down at Mycroft’s car. He could see there was a passenger in the back seat of the limo. It was a woman with long brown hair. Sherlock could see the back of her head through the rear window but not her face.

“If there is nothing else, Mycroft . . .” Sherlock started to say.

“There is something else.” Mycroft glanced away from Sherlock and towards the hallway leading to bedroom.

Sherlock noticed Mycroft’s glance.

“What?”

“Mary Moriston.” Mycroft’s voice became softer.

Sherlock’s eyes glanced down the hall towards the closed bedroom door.

“Yes? She is still . . . incarcerated?”

“And will be for the rest of her life . . . however short that may be. It was Moriarty who paid for the contract on John’s life. He was to be killed if you didn’t commit suicide.”

“Or if I returned from the dead.” Sherlock added.

“Yes. If you had remained in England after you faked your death, she and her team would have come after John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. We wouldn’t have been able to stop them.” Mycroft kept his voice low.

“I realized that, Mycroft. You shouldn’t have lied to me but there was no other option. I had to leave for John’s safety. Although I don’t appreciate your deception, I know it saved John’s life and for that . . . I thank you.”

Mycroft blinked. The corners of his mouth dipped as he pushed back an unfamiliar sensation. Emotions. He hesitated a moment then said.

“I’m sorry I was not honest with you. I will be more . . . respectful of your . . . feelings in the future.”

The two brothers stared at each other for a moment. Then Sherlock returned to his seat.

“Have you heard from Sherrinford?” asked Sherlock.

“Yes, he wishes to discuss an employment opportunity with me.”

“You are not going to hire him to work with you?”

“No, he wishes to do something in espionage.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly. Mycroft continued.

“He is actually quite gifted with computers. I believe he would be very good in the right position but unfortunately it would not be with me. I have a meeting with Gareth Mallory tomorrow.”

“Is Sherrinford still seeing that . . . spy?” asked Sherlock.

“They are seeing each other. Sherrinford is spending every night at Bond’s flat when the agent is in London. Although Mummy and Daddy would prefer he remain with them. I think that _maybe_ it would be . . . better for Sherrinford to be on his own. It is time for him to have his own flat.” Mycroft let a small smile come to face.

“Maybe?”

“Yes, I do admit, flatmates are . . . beneficial.” Mycroft’s smile grew.

Both men were surprised by the soft knock on the doorjamb. They turned to see Molly Hooper standing in the doorway.

“Sorry, excuse me, but . . . I don’t mean to be rude, but Mycroft, we are late.” Molly said in a timid voice.

“Molly?” Sherlock glanced between Mycroft and the young woman.

“Sherlock, oh, hi.” Molly blushed slightly at the sight of the detective in his pajamas. “Mycroft and I . . . were just . . .” She turned her attention back to Mycroft. “You don’t want to be late, Mycroft. Your mother was specific about the time.”

“Quite correct, my dear.” Mycroft smiled at Molly. Sherlock noticed the sudden change in his brother’s demeanor as he talked to Molly. Sherlock smiled. Mycroft straightened his cuffs and smoothed down the front of his waistcoat. “Mummy has requested meeting, Doctor Hooper.”

“Are you taking someone to meet our parents?” Sherlock teased.

“I observed that Doctor Hooper was quite competent during the incident at the morgue. She remained calm and in control. She was effective and determined. Doctor Hooper is a remarkable woman. She is intelligent and caring without being insipid.”

“Caring, brother dear. Isn’t that a disadvantage?” Sherlock jeered.

“Oh do shut up, Sherlock.” Mycroft snapped.

“MYCROFT!” Molly admonished. “Apologize!” Then she realized who she was speaking too. “Please.”

The Iceman blushed slightly. He fidgeted with his tie then glanced at his brother who was smiling broadly.

“My apologies, Sherlock. Please forgive me.”

Sherlock laughed deep and rumbling. “Quite alright, Mycroft.” Sherlock blinked at Molly and noticed her blush suddenly. “I had no idea that you were interested in pathology, brother dear?”

Mycroft crossed the room and stood next to Molly. He turned back and tried to look imperious at his brother.

“Doctor Hooper and I have discovered we share many common interests.”

“Oh?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Mycroft shifted uncomfortably under his brother’s stare. Molly glanced back and forth between the two brothers then smiled.

“He told me that he was impressed that I could get you to do what I told you to do.” Molly said proudly.

Both brothers were surprised by Molly’s comment.

 _“I don’t do what you tell me to do.”_ Sherlock said at the very same moment Mycroft said. _“I didn’t say I was impressed with you.”_

 _“Yes you do.”_ Both men said simultaneously to each other.

Molly laughed.

Mycroft was able to compose himself first. “I believe Molly and Mummy will enjoy sharing stories of how they were able to manipulate the great Sherlock Holmes into doing what they wanted.”

“You really are taking Molly to meet our parents? Are you sure?” Sherlock asked as he jumped up out his chair.

“Yes.” Mycroft smiled.

“I’ve always wanted to meet your parents, Sherlock. I know they will be just lovely.” Molly gushed.

Mycroft took Molly’s elbow and pushed her towards the door. “Please wait for me downstairs, my dear.”

“Oh, okay.”

Mycroft turned and glared at his brother. “Do you have something to say to me?”

Sherlock stepped up to his brother and then held his hand out to him. Mycroft seemed surprised.

“I am very happy for you.” Sherlock shook his brother’s hand.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” Mycroft returned the handshake.

“And if you cause her any sorrow I will make it my life’s ambition to ruin yours.” Sherlock added with all sincerity.

“As if you don’t already. But I have no intention of aggrieving Doctor . . . Molly in any way.”

The two brothers smiled at each other and let go of their handshake.

“Well, then . . . until the next time you need me to extricate you from a situation. Goodbye, Sherlock.”

“Goodbye, Mycroft. Give my love to our parents.” Sherlock said as he watched his brother leave his flat.

He stepped over to the window and watched Mycroft and Molly step up to the car. The driver held the door but Mycroft waved him away. The British Government held the door for the petite doctor. Mycroft took her hand delicately. Sherlock watched as Molly pushed up on her toes to give Mycroft a quick kiss to his cheek before she climbed into the backseat. Mycroft glanced up and down the street then up at the window where Sherlock was standing. Mycroft pouted but Sherlock smiled. He waited for Mycroft to get into the car and the black saloon drove away before he turned back to the room.

Maybe there was a chance for the Holmes brothers, Sherlock considered. Maybe there would be a ‘happy ever after’ for his parents. Sherrinford had returned from the grave and was living with them for the time being. The annoying big brother might actually leave Sherrinford alone. And Mycroft seemed to finally find someone else to spend all of his ‘concern’ on instead of him. Sherlock was just disappointed to know it was going to be his pathologist whom Mycroft would be spying on. That would make things more difficult for Sherlock whenever he need to call Molly out in the middle of the night to perform an autopsy for him. But maybe Molly might convince the interfering bastard to leave everyone else alone.

The sound of the shower starting in the bathroom cut through Sherlock’s musings. He thought of John under the hot water as steam rose around his tan body. Sherlock smiled as he walked away from the window and towards his own happy ever after.

~Q~

Q stood beside the Aston Martin looking out over the isolated landscape. The car was parked at the entrance of a narrow drive beside two stone pillars. One still had a bronze stag sitting on top of it; the other was crumbling. The drive curved down a small hill, and ended at the remains of the scorched rubble of a burn down manor house. The charred corner beams stood standing, stark against the blue waters of a distant lake.

“I thought you said you had a home?” Q asked as James stepped around the car.

Both men looked at the burned ruins of James’ ancestral home, Skyfall.

“I do. I just didn’t tell you that I blew it up a few years ago.”

“Just a minor detail.” Q smirked. He stepped near to James and the blonde reached out and took his hand. “If we are going to spend the night here, I think we will need a tent.”

“No, I made reservations at a B&B a few miles away from here. We’ll spend the night there. Your mother insisted we be back in Bushey Heath by tomorrow night. Remember the party this weekend?”

“How could I forget it? But why did you bring me all the way up here if we are going to turn around and go right back down tomorrow?” Q asked and he leaned into the warmth of James’ body. The young man had been hoping for a romantic weekend alone with the blonde.

“Well, I wanted to ask you something . . . get your opinion.” James said tentatively.

“My opinion? Sure.” Q said.

“I want to rebuild Skyfall. I never like the way it was but I do like Scotland. I want to escape the noise of London and retire here.” James said.

“Retire?” Suddenly Q felt wrong footed. Retirement was the last thing Q ever expected to hear James say.

When James was in London, Q tried to spend as much time as he could with the man. It had been difficult because Q’s therapist and his family took up much of Q’s time. Q had been seeing James for six months now. Since that first night he had snuck into James’ flat, Q had made it a point to see James after he had returned from his missions. Q had to balance his recovery with his parents need to see him and his own need for privacy. It had been a balancing act that Q believed James was apparently growing tired of.

Q didn’t want James to leave. He had found spending time with James helped the most. The man never made any demands on Q or asked any questions about what happened. He seemed to enjoy Q’s company as much as Q enjoyed his. They spent their evenings together talking about anything they found interesting and their nights together in bed. He never felt pushed by James. He felt comfortable around the man.

Q wanted to believe that Bond enjoyed his presence, too. After the first time James came back from a mission and found Q asleep on his couch and the take away he had brought over sitting cold on the counter in the kitchen, James made it a point to text Q as soon as he landed in the London to let him know when he would be back at the flat. Q had a drawer at James’ flat and a portion of cupboard in the bedroom for his clothes. His choice of music was being added to James’ collection. Q was under the idea that once he and Mycroft convinced his parents it was time for Q to move out, that he would be moving into James’ flat. But the simple word, ‘retire’ changed all that.

“I’ve been thinking about retiring the last few months. I’ve been less eager to go out on missions and I find myself just wanting to give it all up for good.” James said as his gaze moved across the expanse of the valley.

“Retire? I thought you enjoyed living in London?” Q said as he stepped back from the other man.

“I don’t really live there, do I? I mean I’m away more often than I’m there.” James said. “I’ve been thinking I would like some place permanent. Some place I can actually feel like a home.”

“And London can’t be that?” Q was feeling sick.

“Actually, Q it’s not the location that makes it a home for me.” James turned and smiled softly at the younger man. Q seemed to not understand. “It’s whom I’m with.”

James held his hand out to Q and the young man looked down at it. James wiggled his fingers in attempt to draw Q closer. Q reached out and slowly slipped his fingers over James’. James closed his hand and pulled Q closer.

“I want you to design a house for both of us. Some place just for us.” James said softly.

Q’s eyes moved from staring at their joined hands to Bond’s crystal blue eyes. “For us? Together?!”

“Yes. I have mandatory retirement from the field in six years. Then I will be placed behind a desk. You can’t imagine how much I dread that idea. Before I met you, I never thought about retirement. I never planned on it. I honestly believed it didn’t matter, but then I met you.” James slipped his free arm around Q’s shoulders. “I never expected someone like you. Now, I don’t want to be without you. I’m willing to quit MI6 today if you want me to. I’m very rich actually. My family was wealthy and my income has been . . . sizable. We can build Skyfall just the way we want it. Or if you don’t want to live in Scotland, we can go anywhere in the world you want. I’ll buy you an island or a mountain top. Whatever you want.”

Q stared dumbfound at James. “Are you asking me to . . . marry you?”

James laughed trying to cover his nerves. “I’m asking you to stay with an old burnt out spy. Stay with me . . . live with me. I want to give you everything you could want or need. I want you there when I come home.”

Q leaned in and kissed James quickly, cutting off any other romantic statements the man was going to make.

“I want that too.” Q said as he leaned back. “I want to be with you too . . . but I can’t.”

James’ smile immediately fell away. He tightened his hold on Q as his face became emotionless. Q saw the shift in James’ expression. For a moment he remembered how quickly Sebastian could change from a caring and loving husband to brutal abuser. Q forced himself to remember this was James and not Sebastian.

“Of course, Q. It’s too soon. You need more time with your therapist.” James’ embrace slackened and he moved to step back.

Q reached out and grabbed hold of the man and wouldn’t let him move away.

“You don’t understand. I want to be with you. I want to go to sleep every night in your arms and wake up beside you, it’s just . . . we need to stay in London.” Q said with a smile on his face.

“Why?” James asked.

“I was going to tell you at the party on Saturday. It was going to be a surprise for everyone, but I got a job.”

“A job? Where? That’s wonderful.” James was beginning to believe maybe things could work for him and Q.

“MI6. I passed the exams, including a psych exam because of my kidnapping, and met with Tanner and Major Boothroyd. I’ll start the Quartermaster program next month.”

“MI6!” James shouted.

“Yes, it was your idea to begin will. I was hoping we could work together but if you are retiring.”

“Oh shut up!” James pulled Q closer and kissed the young man hard. The idea of having Q with him on missions while remaining secure in England was a dream come true for the man. He could keep Q close and keep him safe too.

The two men stood on the road in the middle of nowhere and kissed. Over and over again. Finally, Q pulled back and looked carefully at James.

“Does this mean you are going to stay with MI6?”

“For the time being. You better learn quick how to be my quartermaster though. I am a very demanding agent and want only the very best. And once I have it I will protect it with my life.” James smiled.

Q laughed. “Just what my therapist said about you.”

“Your therapist?” James raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. She was talking about human nature and the seven soul types to me.” Q said as if James knew what he was talking about. When the older man didn’t acknowledge the comment, Q continued. “She gave me a book to read about the need to serve a greater good. To put my life in perspective with accomplishing something positive. There are seven types of essences. Or soul types. The book called me a Scholar’s Soul. Someone who is naturally curious, inquisitive and analytical. The book description of a Warrior’s Soul fit you. Someone who is forceful, loyal and protective.”

“Do you often talk about me to your therapist?” James asked suspiciously.

“Only when she asked who was responsible for saving me.”

“That was you, Q. You saved yourself.” James said.

“No, I think we saved each other.” Q answered him honestly.

James smile broadened. “Your absolutely correct, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcome. Updating for this story will be slow.


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